


After Rain

by irithyll



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, I just want to give these two the happy ending they both deserve, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-09-30 23:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irithyll/pseuds/irithyll
Summary: Following Chris's sudden tragic death, Claire struggles with her grief and Piers crumbles beneath the pressure of leading Alpha team. As they attempt to cope with the loss, the two soon discover that love sometimes occurs when it's least expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xaori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaori/gifts).

The way the autumn chill nipped at her damp cheeks was almost painful. Claire dabbed at her face with the back of her palm, a motion that only served to effectively smear her tears across her flushed cheeks and worsen the bite of the cold. The side of her head was pounding and her lips were dry from mouth breathing on account of the stuffiness of her nose, but her appearance was the least of her concerns.

After all, it was a day of mourning, one in which she was _allowed_ to be a hot mess.

Claire took in a slow, shaky breath and tilted her face upwards, allowing the sun to bathe her skin in the little warmth it had to offer in the present season. Though the news of Chris's death had broken a week prior, the funeral still felt unsettlingly surreal. She had become well-acquainted with death since becoming involved in the fight against bioterrorism, but she still found the loss to be difficult to swallow. Chris was a part of her, the opposite side of the same coin, the only rock she ever had. He had raised her, shaped her into the woman she was, entertained her anxiety-spurred phone calls at three in the morning, and beat up the boys who broke her heart in high school.

How could he have allowed it to all be ripped away from her so easily? How could Chris Redfield, BSAA founder and captain, the revered marksman of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team, _die_ on a field mission?

She nearly resented him for it. Losing Jill had been difficult enough, but it hadn't made burying her brother any easier. If anything, it made the tragedy all the more damaging. She felt it in her chest, a dull ache that wouldn't let up, and it filled her with an emptiness that left her feeling cold and hollow.

"Claire?"

There was an uncertainty in the woman's voice. Moira spoke almost as though she wasn't sure if she was allowed to, like she was perhaps breaking some sort of unspoken rule of a funeral. Claire turned to face her and forced the best semblance of a smile that she could muster in the form of a quick twinge of her lips and wet, warm eyes.

"Hey, Moira."

Moira cringed at the sound of Claire's voice as it cracked. This wasn't the Claire she knew, the one she had always considered to be a role model. That woman was fierce and strong, an unshakeable force of nature that kept her grounded during the most terrifying moments of her life. _This_ woman was nothing more than a husk, a battered and empty shell made worn from the fight she had endured for so long.

"Claire, I'm so _sorry._" She winced at her own cliche and the way Claire's face scrunched up at the words in an effort to fend off tears.

In a way, Moira feared what would come next. Claire had been tough in the past, yes, but her endurance came from the strength she had drawn from her brother. Failure and loss were commonplace in the fight against bioterrorism, but Claire had always cited Chris as being the rod that kept her grounded in spite of it all. Without Chris, Moira couldn't be certain that Claire would be willing to open up to anyone. After all, who _did_ she have?

Not Kennedy, that was for damn sure. Moira nearly snorted at the thought of him as she scanned the faces in the crowd that had begun to form in anticipation of the ceremony. He was nowhere to be seen and she wondered if he was perhaps too hungover to attend and support Claire through the arguably most difficult moment of her life.

Claire smiled wryly at the earth that had been shoveled away to permit space for Chris's casket. It only seemed fitting to have him buried beside Jill and a silly, romantic part of her hoped that it would somehow allow the pair to find peace. Whether or not she believed in an afterlife, she couldn't be certain—or, perhaps, she wasn't certain that she _wanted_ to believe in a higher power that would permit such tragedies to occur.

"Oh, Claire." A deep voice rumbled, one that she recognized in an instant, and Claire all but threw herself into Barry Burton's arms.

The older man wrapped his arms around her tightly, enveloping her in the type of bear hug Chris _used_ to offer before he had fallen victim to his rapidly spiraling depression. Ever since Jill died, Chris had distanced himself from Claire in his attempts to drown himself in alcohol. Chris lost himself in both booze and his misery and became a cog in the machine, wholly throwing himself into his work and refusing to allow himself to think about much else.

Claire had been included in that. When was the last time they had spoken? She couldn't be sure. Every so often, she received a half-assed email from her brother, reassuring her that he hadn't been killed and that they were winning the war against bioterrorism. Looking back now, she couldn't be certain who was worse at correspondence—Chris or Leon?

It didn't matter, she supposed. Leon now won that competition by default and the realization inspired an audible sob that was halted in her throat by a hard swallow on her behalf. In response, Barry began to gently rub her back through the thick fabric of her peacoat as he murmured soothingly in her ear.

"It will be alright." He whispered in her ear. "You know Jill will take good care of him."

She gripped at the back of his jacket with white-knuckled fists as she buried her face in his chest, grateful for the fact that she had the foresight to forgo her mascara. _Was_ Jill taking care of him now? Was Jill even _capable_ of taking care of him now? Was Jill even a _thing_ anymore? Fuck, what a terrible time to have an existential crisis. She hadn't ever given religion much thought in the past and she wondered if perhaps she should have. Pulling away from his chest, Claire sniffled as she nodded her head, unsure of what to say in response.

Depersonalization—_that_ was the term to describe what occurred throughout the remainder of the funeral. As she stood beside the massive hole in the ground, she found it difficult to tear her eyes away. It was impossibly dark at its bottom and she stared so hard into the pitch blackness that she felt her head begin to swim.

Claire found that she couldn't break her gaze even as the preacher began to speak. His voice was a steady, low-pitched droll in the back of her mind and she swore she could feel the beat of her heart from behind her eyes. Her stare remained intense, unmoving from the bottom of the hole that her brother would be banished to rot in, and the pounding in her head became nearly unbearable. She swayed on her feet, but wasn't aware of the movement. Claire didn't feel like herself—rather, she felt as though she was watching the world through a lens.

Her skin felt numb and, despite her best efforts, she couldn't look away. She felt guilty, maybe, for abandoning her brother in the cold, dark earth. Hell, it was hard to discern if she was feeling anything at _all._ The only things she was certain of were the loud thrumming of blood in her ears and the burning dryness of her eyes that simply would not move.

At first, she wasn't sure that she felt it. A warmth encircled her wrist and she lethargically became aware of the gentle press of skin against hers. The sensation was jarring enough to break her from her trance and, startled, she looked down at her left wrist to find it enveloped in a strong, careful hand. She followed it to its owner, eyes trailing over the length of an arm and the broad shoulder from which it came before eventually falling on the man's face.

She barely recognized the strong profile of the younger man as he remained stoic, standing at attention as he watched the preacher with a soldier's vigilance. Claire studied him for a moment, following the long line of his nose and the height of his cheekbones as she struggled to process the sight of him through her bleary, tear-addled gaze. She'd seen him before, but only in the occasional photographs that appeared in the B.S.A.A.'s infrequent, celebratory newsletters.

Piers Nivans. He was—_had_ been—her brother's second-in-command and perhaps the only person Chris allowed into his life following the death of Jill Valentine. Chris had lived and breathed bioterrorism and Piers, as far as she knew, had been right there beside him, sweating and bleeding on the battlefield in conjunction with her brother. Had she taken the initiative to reach out to Piers in the past, maybe he could have assisted her in mending her fractured relationship with Chris.

Or maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe Chris treated Piers with the same brusque, cold shoulder that he offered everyone else he encountered after the Spencer Incident. Still, Claire felt a bizarre, grief-inspired draw towards Piers in that moment. He very well might have been the person Chris cared about most before he lost his life and the only confidante he trusted.

Piers might have been her replacement. The thought stung like a slap to the face. Chris had refused to allow her to join the B.S.A.A. and he had been swift to shut her out once Jill had been declared dead. Perhaps his actions were spurred by the belief that she was too weak, that Claire couldn't possibly endure the burden of his struggles. Maybe, instead, he felt that he needed someone stronger, someone who could truly understand the war on bioterrorism as they stood on the front lines beside him.

Claire softly clicked her tongue at the thought. Piers's eyebrow twitched at the sound and his attention faltered as his hazel irises darted in her direction. She was, briefly, stunned by the sight of them—warm, gentle, bright, and flecked with a constellation of amber that nearly glistened as they caught the sunlight. Slowly, he pulled his full-lipped pout into a half smile and released her wrist with a subtle nod of his head.

The casket began its descent into the ground and Claire felt as though she might vomit. She watched as a shadow fell over its pearly white surface, eventually enveloping the elaborate arrangement of lilies that were neatly placed on top of it. A foreign feeling washed over her and, for a moment, Claire wasn't entirely certain that she _was_ burying her brother. It didn't feel right, though she supposed it wasn't meant to. As she looked back at the faces of the other attendees, she wondered if they, too, felt as uncomfortable as she did.

It didn't seem that way. There were no tears or generous sobs from the crowd, only tight-lipped frowns and shakes of heads. The gravediggers seemed unperturbed as they began to thrust the freshly upturned dirt back into the hole from which it came. With morbid interest, Claire watched the clods of soil collide against the lid of the coffin and explode into a fine spray of dirt. It slid across the polished metal and began to weigh down the lilies. Soon, the casket disappeared from her field of view, and Claire felt bile rise in her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Chris." She whispered to herself. "You deserve better."

Fingertips brushed over the curve of her shoulder and Claire closed her eyes, eyelashes weighed down by her tears as she listened to Piers's first words for her.

"So do you."

* * *

Three days following the funeral, Claire cracked. She had done her best to remain preoccupied with anything other than Chris's death, but out of sight and out of mind apparently didn't apply when grieving the loss of one's brother. In the midst of her late evening run, which in itself was a half-baked idea that sprung into her mind in an attempt to distract herself from it all, Claire broke down.

Keeled over with her side aching and her chest heaving for air, Claire began to cry in the worst of ways. It was deep and guttural, marked by sobs so forceful that her stomach began to ache. She wondered how pathetic she must have looked in that moment, eyes swollen and skin slick with salty tears and sweat alike. Her skin burned with shame as she dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve and forced herself to return home.

Her attempt to burn herself alive in the shower was not nearly as cathartic as she had hoped it would be. There was still an emptiness inside of her that she couldn't manage to rinse down the drain, an absence that felt more like a presence. The void sat heavily in the pit of her stomach and threatened to swallow her whole. Ever since Chris's death, it loomed about her like a stray cat pleading for meal scraps, and she had attempted to ignore it for the same reason. After all, feeding a stray only encourages it to return, doesn't it?

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't quite shake it. It hovered in the doorway as she flipped through the channels on the television and was hot on her heels when she stomped into the kitchen in search for a cup of coffee. Loneliness continued to mill about in the doorway when she inevitably flopped onto her bed with a defeated sigh and stared hard at the phone that sat on her bedside table.

She could call Leon, because that's what their relationship was all about, wasn't it? Leon called her when he needed someone to fill the Ada-shaped hole in his heart, so it would only be fair to call him to settle into the space Chris left behind, but as she reached out for the phone, she hesitated. Meetings with Leon always ended in the same way, punctuated with sloppy, half-assed sex that always left her hating herself the morning after.

Was that _really_ something she needed right now?

Claire didn't allow herself to think as she tapped Leon's name. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the screen and listened to the ringing on the opposite line. Was it the thought of sex or the sound of a voice filling her otherwise empty apartment that had her so eager? She couldn't be sure.

Regardless, she wouldn't find out. Inevitably, she was greeted with the staticy recording of his voicemail message and she felt her heart sink. Sitting upright in bed, she reached over to yank open the drawer of the bedside table and toss her phone into it, but was startled by the sight of the large package stuffed within it.

She had forgotten about it. The parcel had arrived a few days before Chris's funeral and was stamped with the B.S.A.A.'s official emblem. As she pulled it from the drawer, she winced a little at the weight of it and brought it into her lap for closer inspection. She was not privy to its contents and couldn't be certain of what it contained and, as she debated whether or not to open it, she found that she had absentmindedly broken the seal with the edge of her thumb nail.

Pulling back the side tab, she peered inside, but was unable to discern its contents due to the thick bubble wrap within. Sighing, she dumped the items onto the bed and slowly began to peel back the protective wrapping, but she quickly realized what was within it.

The B.S.A.A. had sent her the belongings Chris was carrying when he died.

A strangled sob escaped her as she lifted his dog tags by the chain. They clinked loudly as they collided with one another and she traced her finger over the stamped letters that spelled out his name. Clenching them in her fist, she worried them between her thumb and forefinger as she looked down at the other items that remained—a handgun, a knife, and his B.S.A.A. identification card.

Claire slipped the chain over her head and the weight of his dog tags hung heavily around her neck as she leaned forward to pick up his ID. She held it close and stared hard at it, reading his name again and again before examining his photo. As she stared into his dull eyes, she found herself wondering if the weight of his dog tags were comparable to that of a noose.

Had she tried harder to reach out to him, would he still be alive today?

Shaking the thought from her mind, she fell back against the pillows and ran her fingers over the front of his badge. He looked so tired with his eyes framed by dark circles and the premature peppering of grey hair that had begun to sprout in his beard. How had she not noticed it before? Why hadn't she made the effort to stop by his office more often?

_Oh._

What if the damned thing still worked?

* * *

As she crept through the dark halls of the B.S.A.A.'s headquarters, Claire was certain that immersing herself in Chris's office wouldn't be particularly conducive to her mental health, but, _fuck,_ what else was she supposed to do? TerraSave had granted her an extended bereavement period, but sitting at home and feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to do much good. Maybe, by going through the contents of his office, she would find some sort of reprieve.

At the very least, it might help her understand _why._

She found Chris's office at the end of the hall, neatly labeled with a simple silver plaque that denoted his position as Captain of Alpha Team. The walnut door that stood before her was intimidating in a way, ominously standing tall in the silver moonlight that filtered in through a nearby window. She lightly rested her hand against the handle as she looked down at the badge in her hand, its laminated surface reflecting the light back at her and obscuring Chris's photo.

With a quick movement, she swiped it over the card reader beside the door and nearly gasped when she heard the lock release. She wasn't particularly surprised to discover that the B.S.A.A. had failed to deactivate Chris's card so soon after his death, but she didn't anticipate entry to be so simple, either.

And she certainly didn't expect the office to be _occupied._ As she swung the door open, Claire's lips parted in surprise at the sight of Piers seated behind the desk positioned at the back of the room. He was engaged in a telephone conversation, the cord from the phone idly twisted between his fingers as he attempted to keep himself busy. Unperturbed by her entry, he simply gave her a cordial smile and quickly released his hold on the phone cord to gesture towards the chair opposite the desk.

"Absolutely not." He quickly spoke, voice stoic.

Claire contemplated ducking out of the office and leaving him to his work, but the serious tone of his voice was contrasted by the amiable look in his eyes as he expectantly looked from her to the chair and back again.

"The only way to win this war is by working together." He advised, voice cool and even. "Reassign the agent if needed. We need all the manpower we can get."

As she lowered herself into the seat, Claire froze. Were she not looking the man in the eyes, she might have mistaken Piers for Chris—the cadence of their voices and, judging by the content of the conversation, their philosophies were nearly identical. It was almost unnerving and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she waited for him to complete the discussion. Once he dropped the receiver back onto its holder with a swift, practiced movement, he smiled at her once again.

"Hey, Claire."

He spoke her name as though he'd done it a thousand times, as if he hadn't only spoken three words to her in his entire life, and it made her feel something she couldn't quite place.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize Chris's position had been—"

"It hasn't." He quickly interjected, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose and let out a long, shaky sigh. "I'm just...here for the interim."

Claire forced an awkward laugh as she settled back into the chair. "That bad, huh?"

Piers didn't speak, but the expression on his face was more than enough to illustrate his point. Dark half-moons had surfaced beneath his eyes and his hair was slightly tousled as he stared down at the paperwork on the desk with a dejected look.

"No, it's just…" He laughed softly. "Let's just say that I feel like this experience has helped me better understand the Captain."

Claire smiled wryly as she tucked loose strands of her auburn hair behind her ear. A brief silence fell between them and she looked over at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour.

"I'm sorry." She finally spoke, laughing nervously as she did, "I really don't know why I'm here."

Piers shrugged as he met her gaze, confessing, "I don't know why I'm here either considering the fact that I have an office of my own."

The air between them was heavy. Claire inhaled slowly as she surveyed the man behind the desk. The shadows cast by the warm light of the tabletop lamp emphasized the masculine chisel of his jaw and the smoothness of his skin made her wonder just how old he was.

"The B.S.A.A. sent me all his things and...I was just curious, I guess." She held up her hand, displaying the card as it limply dangled between two fingers. "He stopped telling me much after Jill died."

Piers crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"He never said much of anything about Jill." He mused aloud. "The few times that he did, it was in his sleep."

Claire grimaced at the revelation, pained by the mental image painted by his words.

"She...died for him." She explained. "I know it haunted him. He…"

She paused, mulling over her words.

"...I mean, I _think_ he loved her. Chris was never a talkative guy, you know, but I saw the way he looked at her. He always insisted that they were only partners, but I can't help but to wonder if that was truly the case."

She sighed as she shook her head and idly picked at a loose thread in her jeans, mumbling, "Chris took a lot of secrets with him."

Piers was pensive. His brows furrowed as he strummed his fingers against the edge of the desk, his gaze fixed on an insignificant point in space beyond her.

"If anyone _really_ knew him, I'd say it was you, Claire."

She laughed and shook her head as she admitted, "Funny...I said the same about you."

Piers seemed surprised by her words given the way his forehead wrinkled with the upward rise of his eyebrows. He was momentarily stunned before letting out a short, breathy laugh.

"Me?" He asked incredulously. "We didn't talk like that."

Claire tilted her head to the side as she gave him an amused look.

"Chris showed his appreciation with actions, not words." She looked up at the ceiling as her vision suddenly began to blur. "I...don't think he ever even said he loved me, you know?"

She clenched her eyes tightly closed to force the tears away, but she felt one escape and trail down the side of her cheek. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped it away with her hand and sniffled, awkwardly laughing as she attempted to look at anything but Piers's face.

"That was stupid." She corrected herself. "I know he loved me. I don't know why I said that."

Piers worried the edge of a sheet of paper on his desk between his fingers in his pensive state, ruining its crisp flatness and causing it to permanently curl upwards.

"Do you…" He chuckled at himself, lips pulling back to reveal his bright white teeth as he subtly shook his head at the words he spoke next, "...want to get a drink, perhaps?"

She blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

"I mean," he corrected, "I think we could both use one."

Claire knew that alcohol and grief were a rotten combination. She had witnessed the deleterious effects of the substance via both Chris and Leon. Alcohol and grief had managed to cripple the two strongest men she knew, and yet, as she stared into those hazel eyes, she found it impossible to say no.

* * *

The dim lighting of the bar did Piers many favors. The shadows cast by the warm pendant lights suspended above their table complemented the long lines of his face and she appreciated the way it hinted at the toned muscles that rippled beneath his olive green henley. Piers seemed to have more than a few things in common with Chris and she wondered if he lifted like him too. The thought brought heat to the surface of her cheeks and she quickly took a generous sip of her drink in an attempt to blame it on the alcohol.

"Chris was a good man." Piers reminisced with a half-smile. "We all looked up to him. A leader like him isn't common, you know. He treated us all like family."

Claire trailed her finger around the rim of her glass as he spoke, nonplussed by his comment. Chris always had a strong moral compass, but hearing that he treated a group of young men who he hardly knew as though they were _family_ was a little insulting. They had always been so close, but she couldn't recall the last time he had taken the initiative to call her first. What had she done to persuade him to cast her aside for a bunch of kids with assault rifles?

"I'm sure he did." She lied. "Chris was like that."

Piers nodded as he wiped the sweat off his glass with his thumb.

"He treated me better than my own dad did." He snorted at the comment, eyes still fixed on the polished surface of the table. "Made me feel like I was doing something respectable with my life. Like I was actually worth something."

Claire frowned at the comment. Fighting on the front lines against bioterrorism was arguably one of the most honorable things a person could do. There was no telling how many lives Piers had saved, but…there was no telling how many he had lost, either. Claire thought about Jill, Chris, Steve, Marvin...hell, maybe even Ada, too.

"For what it's worth, I appreciate what you do." Her head felt light and she wondered if she was _really_ getting buzzed off a couple of drinks. "I know what it's like to make so many sacrifices for people who don't even know you exist."

He smirked and nodded, still not quite meeting her eyes. "Yeah...Terrasave, right?"

"Well," she smiled coyly, "Chris wouldn't let me join the B.S.A.A."

Piers shrugged as he looked up at her with a playful smirk. "To be fair, I wouldn't let my hypothetical sister join, either."

Claire rolled her eyes, huffing animatedly. "I'm probably a better shot than half your unit."

He burst into a fit of laughter that warmed something low in the pit of her belly. The sound of it was infectious, bringing a wide, toothy smile to her own face.

"I don't doubt that for a second." Something twinkled in his eyes as he spoke. "Chris talked a lot about you, you know."

Her heart skipped a beat and she steeled herself by downing the rest of her glass before commenting, "All high praise, I hope."

Piers rested his arms on the table as he leaned in closer.

"He was proud of you, Claire. More proud of raising you than he was of founding the damn B.S.A.A." He nodded as though to emphasize his point. "The way his eyes lit up when he talked about you...hell, he barely ever looked as alive as he did then."

Her eyes stung with tears and she felt as though the world was spinning. Gripping the edge of the table, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat with an awkward loudness.

"He might not have ever said it, but believe me, Claire...he loved you to the moon and back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll give you all a happy ending this time, really. It's not going to be Ceremony 2.0, I swear.
> 
> This fic is for Xaori - thanks for being such a great friend, author, and muse. I appreciate you more than even this silly Nivanfield can express.


	2. Chapter 2

While she stood in Chris's living room, Claire felt a sense of despair wash over her. She looked at the stack of empty cardboard boxes that she had stacked against the adjacent wall and turned back to the room, surveying the sheer amount of _things_ her brother had possessed. The prospect of packing up her brother's entire existence into a series of boxes was both disturbing and overwhelming. Chris Redfield was so much more than what could fit into a fucking box and where was she even supposed to begin? The living room was as good as anywhere, she supposed.

As she settled onto the couch, she found that the cushion was sunken in and the springs squeaked beneath her weight. Claire realized it must have been the side that Chris favored and her skin felt as though it was stinging with shame. Their relationship had become so fractured that both her brother and his home were nearly foreign to her. She barely recognized the subtle hints that Chris had actually lived there—a handful of 9mm bullets lazily placed on the corner of the entertainment center from when he assumedly emptied his pockets after a long mission, a half-empty beer can haphazardly set near the edge of the coffee table, and an oversized t-shirt tossed over the arm of the couch with the B.S.A.A.'s emblem proudly embroidered on its massively wide sleeve.

Leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, Claire allowed her head to hang low as she cursed under her breath. It wasn't fucking _fair_ that Chris had died and it wasn't fucking _fair_ that he left her alone to deal with this mess. When their parents passed away, he promised to stay safe, ensured that she'd never be left alone as long as he could help it. She made him renew that promise after Raccoon City while they were cramped in that stupid fucking jet and again when he refused to allow her to enlist in the B.S.A.A.

Well, she supposed he couldn't help it now.

Claire let out a shaky sigh as she relaxed into the couch, allowing her head to loll back against the cushions as she stared hard at a water stain on the ceiling above. She could make out the faint smell of nicotine that had likely been carried in by his clothes and she shook her head in disdain. He must have picked up the habit again, one that both she and Jill had forced him to curb over a decade ago.

Absentmindedly, she reached out for the shirt that was strewn over the side of the couch and held it to her chest. She smelled him—gunpowder, sweat, and citrus—and she felt tears well up in her eyes. With trembling hands, she folded the shirt and stood to drop it in the bottom of the box. It landed with a dull sound and she stared at it, mind still by the sight. After a moment, she pulled it back out of the box and set it back on the coffee table.

What the hell was she doing?

Claire took a long look at the living room and sighed before heading down the hall to the bedroom. Chris's bedroom was just as plain as she would have expected it to be, equipped with only a queen-sized bed framed by a pair of nightstands that made her heart wrench. Chris had no use for two nightstands and she hated the solemn feeling that the second one inspired. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand and cursed under her breath. A packet of half-used birth control pills, a loaded Beretta, and a leather case containing a lock picking set were all she needed to find to confirm who the second nightstand was meant for.

Holding her breath, she darted to the closet and pulled open the pair of folding doors, exhaling only as her eyes swept over the sea of blues and greys that occupied half of the space. She pulled out one of the garments—a plain, navy blue v-neck—and shook her head at the sight of it.

"God dammit, Chris." She hissed, covering her mouth with her hand to restrain a sob that threatened to escape. "Why did you torture yourself like this?"

She returned the shirt to its respective place with a trembling hand before collapsing onto the bed. Pulling a pillow to her chest, she buried her face in it, breathing in the fleeting scent of Chris as hot tears streamed down her face. She found it difficult to understand why Chris chose to suffer, why he never reached out to his own fucking _sister_ for help.

"Fuck, Chris…" She muttered to herself. "I hope you're finally at peace."

* * *

The rumble of his phone from within his pocket was a welcome distraction from the paperwork that was scattered across his desk. Piers ran a palm over his face as though it would wipe the frustration away before shoving his hand deep in his pocket in search of his phone. As he pulled it towards his face, he nearly swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the call, but he froze at the sight of the name printed across the screen—_Chris_.

Stunned, he hesitated before sliding his finger across the screen, bringing it to his face with a shaky hand as he cleared his throat. "Nivans."

A soft sigh came from the other line, a sound that was soon contrasted by the sudden, shrill expletive that rattled in his ear.

"Fuck! Oh god, Piers, I'm so sorry. I didn't think when I…"

He chuckled at her apology as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head despite the fact that she couldn't see it.

"It's alright, Claire." His cheeks hurt from the width of his grin and he looked up at the ceiling, trying to distract himself from thinking too hard about the connotation behind that realization. "It's nice to hear from you."

Piers felt a little guilty over the warmth that spilled into his chest at the mere thought of her. He had enjoyed the night they shared together at the bar despite the miserable nature of their conversation. Claire was full of life, full of _emotion,_ and that was something he hadn't seen in a while since enlisting in the B.S.A.A. Amongst the operatives of Alpha team, it seemed that only two emotions existed—lust and anger. Claire was a welcome breath of fresh air in an otherwise monotonous world.

She laughed breathily. "This is creepy of me, right? Fuck, I'm a jackass."

The warmth in his chest was beginning to creep along the sides of his neck. Piers sat up in his chair, leaning his elbows on the surface of his desk as he smiled.

"It's not creepy." He assured her. "I enjoy your company."

A brief silence came between them and he broke it with a laugh.

"Was that creepy?" He asked in earnest, feeling a little ashamed.

"No, not creepy."

She cleared her throat.

"Listen, I…" He heard her sigh. "I'm at Chris's. I'm trying to go through all his things, but...it's hard, you know?"

He hummed in response, instinctively reaching for his keys that had been thrown in the top drawer of his desk.

"I understand if you _don't_, but would you…"

She cussed softly and he rose from his seat with a smile still plastered on his face.

"...would you be interested in coming by to help? I just don't know anyone else to ask. No one else was really...involved."

"Of course. I was just leaving anyway." He lied, flicking off the light to his office as he slipped out of the door. "Text me the address?"

"Okay, but I'll do it from my phone this time so I don't seem like such a dick."

He nodded to another operative as he shimmied past him in the narrow hallway in his haste to exit the building. The other agent did a double-take at the uncharacteristic bounce in his interim Captain's step, but opted to say nothing.

* * *

Piers felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him when Claire answered the door. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him and her subsequent smile was infectious, inspiring him to grin in kind as he gave her an awkward wave. She pulled the door open in its entirety to grant him space to enter with a dramatic wave of her hand.

"Thanks so much for coming." She gushed, tucking a tendril of auburn hair that escaped her loose bun behind her ear. "I was slowly losing my mind."

He stood in the doorway and gawked at the sea of cardboard boxes that littered the living space.

"I hate to say it, but it seems that way." He admitted with a laugh. "I'm happy to help though."

Claire's gaze followed the path of his own as she anxiously wrang her hands together. He watched her for a moment, breath hitching in his throat at the way her form-fitting skinny jeans rode low on her hips and exposed a thin strip of skin stretched taut over her flat belly. The black v-neck that she wore clung to the dip in her waist and his eyes appreciatively swept over the sharp cut of her collarbones that had been left exposed.

He had known that she was beautiful. It was a sentiment that Alpha team shared and one that they often used to rile up their Captain when photos of her appeared in TerraSave's publications. Her professional attire had never boasted the body that laid beneath and he suddenly felt as though the air in Chris's home was uncomfortably thin.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "It looks like we need to pick a _single_ room to start with."

There was a hint of humor in his voice and Claire nearly blushed at the sheer amount of boxes that she had deposited throughout the house. If she was being honest with herself, she supposed that it _did_ appear as though a tornado had swept through.

"I guess that's why they call you Captain." She joked, winking as she shot finger guns in his direction.

"_Interim_ Captain." He corrected, but the smile on his face never faded. "How about we start with the kitchen? It's probably the easiest. Least personal, you know?"

Claire paused, mulling it over for a moment before revising her previous statement, "Smart. That must be why they call you _interim_ Captain."

Piers chuckled as he hoisted a couple of cardboard boxes in his arms and made his way to the kitchen. Claire followed his lead, collecting a couple for herself as she relocated them to the next room. She found Piers standing beside the table, facing the opposite direction as he shrugged off his olive green jacket. Claire struggled to ignore the way the muscles in his arms and back flexed with the movement and, as he draped the garment over the back of a chair, Claire swallowed hard and brushed past him to set her boxes on the counter.

Chris's kitchen was small and the oak flooring was cold beneath her bare feet. She idly ran her fingers across the marble countertop and wistfully stared at the massive farmhouse sink that sat beneath a large window that overlooked his backyard.

"Such a pretty kitchen was a waste on my brother." She mumbled, pursing her lips as she turned back towards Piers. "I'd kill for a sink like that."

Piers smirked as he opened one of the cupboards nearby, finding it half-equipped with only the essentials—two plates, two cups, and two bowls.

"I take it he wasn't much of a chef?" He asked, pulling the dishes from their space on the shelf.

"Oh god, not at all." Claire wrinkled her nose and laughed. "When we were kids, I think he fed me freezer burnt waffles almost every night."

The comment piqued his interest. Though Piers knew Chris had raised Claire, he hadn't known for how long. Chris had only mentioned it in passing a few times, usually at the expense of one of their insubordinate troops—"_Even my kid sister behaved better than you."_

"If you don't mind me asking," he hesitated, "How old were you when your parents passed?"

"Five. Chris was eleven."

Piers inhaled sharply before whispering, "Damn, Claire."

Claire smiled and shrugged, leaning against the counter as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's alright. It's not like I knew any better." She laughed, cocking her head to the side as she noticed Piers's glum expression. "Not to be a braggart or anything, but I'd say Chris did a good job."

"He did." Piers swiftly responded. "But, still...I meant what I said. You deserve better than this, Claire."

Her eyes briefly glistened with a new onset of tears, but she blinked them away before they could fall. Forcing a smile wide enough to reveal her teeth, she looked down at the floor.

"I like to believe that I've just been saving up all of my luck for something magnificent."

Piers caught himself wishing that he could give her something magnificent.

They made quick work of the kitchen, wiping it bare in just a little over an hour. The contents of Chris's fridge had become questionable in his absence and Piers had volunteered to shoulder the burden of disposing the package of raw ground meat that had begun to ooze bizarre fluids. Claire was appreciative of it and hid her amusement as she watched him toss molded objects into the trash with a grimace.

With a grunt, she hefted the box she loaded full of canned goods onto the kitchen table. Piers was still bent over the fridge, scrubbing away at the dirty shelving with a sponge, and she was appreciative of the fact that her brother's sad excuse for cleanliness had not rubbed off on him.

"Well," he finally announced as he tossed the soiled sponge across the room and into the sink, "All of this rotten food has really done wonders for my appetite."

Claire laughed, but his expression was serious as he turned to face her once he had scoured his hands clean in the sink.

"I actually _am_ hungry." He confessed. "How about you?"

Her body seemed to answer for her as her stomach rumbled loudly in response, eliciting laughter from Piers.

"My treat." He added, slipping back into his jacket as he retrieved his keys from his pocket and dangled them in the air. "I'll even _drive_."

* * *

Claire was grateful for the privacy that they were granted in the quaint French cafe Piers had taken her to. The hostess tucked them away in a corner booth at the back of the restaurant, a few tables away from most of the other patrons seated within. The waitress was quick to serve them with steaming cups of coffee and Claire wrapped her hands around her mug, relishing in its heat.

"I don't know how authentic it is," Piers admitted as he perused the menu, "But the food is good."

Given her sudden hunger, Claire figured that authenticity wasn't much of an issue so long as the food was decent. She took a generous sip of her coffee and nearly moaned at the taste, earning a curious look from Piers.

"It's been a while since I've had a good cup of coffee." She defended and Piers smirked as he shook his head.

"Must be some damn good coffee," he took a swig of his own, eyes widening as he conceded, "Alright, that _is_ some damn good coffee."

Claire rolled her eyes, but couldn't hold back her giggle. Piers winked at her from over the top of his mug as he indulged in another sip. The early afternoon sunlight that filtered through the nearby window illuminated his eyes, emphasizing the flecks of amber in his hazel irises. His eyes were warm and gentle and she caught herself comparing them to Leon's cold, hard stare.

"So, how long have you been with TerraSave?" Piers asked in an attempt to drum up small talk.

"Since...2003? I'm not sure. Time flies when you're saving lives."

He grinned at the sarcasm that practically dripped from her words. Claire rested her chin in her hand as she inquired, "How long have you been with the B.S.A.A.?"

"Four years, three months, and twenty-six days." He responded without missing a beat.

Claire stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted by the precision in his answer. "Seriously?"

Piers chuckled and shook his head, "Nah, I'm just kidding. I joined the B.S.A.A. about a year ago after spending some time in the Army."

She wondered what he meant by that—"_some"_ time in the Army. Piers hardly even looked old enough to have spent _some_ time in the Army, but she couldn't bring herself to ask his age. She felt a little silly in comparison. Piers, clearly in his twenties, had served in both the military and the B.S.A.A. and currently led the prestiged Alpha team in her brother's stead. She, on the other hand, was already in her early thirties and what the hell had she done with it? Survived Raccoon City by the skin of her teeth? Inconvenienced Chris by getting lost in Europe and requiring rescue? Handed out bottles of water to scared survivors of the war? How many lives had Piers saved in comparison to her?

"Did you always know you wanted to kick bioterrorist ass?" She asked lightheartedly, distracting herself from her self-depreciative thoughts.

Piers looked up at the ceiling as he pondered the question. "Pretty sure I wanted to be an astronaut who occasionally fought fires and wrestled on the side when I was a kid."

Claire grinned at the mental image, "What a hero you'd have been."

They lingered behind for a while after finishing their meal, chatting aimlessly and inquiring about one another. Once the waitress had begun to glare daggers in their direction, Piers convinced Claire that it was time to move on, but not without requesting a coffee to-go on her behalf. The conversation continued on the way back and it wasn't until they arrived at Chris's that Claire came to a surprising realization—Piers had managed to distract her from Chris. Throughout their entire meal, she hadn't once thought about her brother's death. With seemingly no effort, he had somehow instilled a sense of normalcy that she feared would never return.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his car, she stared blankly at the front door to Chris's house, overwhelmed by the butterflies that had suddenly taken shelter within the pit of her stomach.

"You alright?" Piers asked, leaning towards her with a look of concern.

Claire blinked hard and cleared her throat before smiling so hard that her cheeks began to ache.

"Yeah," she whispered, "I think I might be."


	3. Chapter 3

Meeting at Chris's place became their morbid after hours ritual. On Friday evenings, Piers would cut out of work early to find Claire amidst the sea of cardboard boxes with her hair pulled back in a hasty mess and a slight smudge of mascara lingering in the corner of her eye, evidence that she had shed some tears during the process. Though he, too, was wounded by Chris's death and her reaction was understandable, he found that the knowledge that she had cried alone in Chris's living room made his chest ache for reasons he couldn't explain.

He wanted to shoulder the burden for her, to make her believe that everything would someday be alright again despite the shit she had endured. It was hard to believe that someone could withstand the trauma that she had and manage to escape relatively well-adjusted, but a part of him feared that she would reach her threshold. Chris was not only a brother to her, but a parent as well, and he acknowledged that she had effectively lost her entire support network in one fell swoop. It was a notion that Piers couldn't even begin to fathom.

Claire never mentioned anyone else and he found it difficult to swallow the implication that there was no one else for her. There was only Chris in her conversations—that time she and Chris did _this,_ once when Chris did _that_—but there was rarely mention of anyone else. He convinced himself that it was a byproduct of grief, that it was only natural to reminisce about the dead. Despite that, Piers did not fail to notice that her phone never rang while they were together. Not once did he hear the faint chime of a text from a concerned friend or a blip alerting her of a new voicemail.

She deserved better. Piers recited it in his head like a mantra as he stood beside Claire in the doorway of Chris's bedroom, watching her from his periphery as she stared hard at the bed that sat in the center of the room. The bedroom was likely to be the most difficult, but she had assured him that she was ready. Though he didn't admit it aloud, Piers wasn't sure if _he_ was ready.

Chris's death had affected him more than he let on. Chris might not have considered Piers to be a friend, but there was certainly some sort of connection between the two of them, even if it was only one-sided on Piers's part. He admired Chris for many things—his resolve, his leadership qualities, his moral compass—and he felt incredibly small while trying to fill the shoes Chris left behind.

Piers felt like a tightly strung wire, one that was on the verge of snapping from tension at any moment. From the very moment that his makeshift title was forced upon him, Piers began to doubt whether or not leadership was something he was cut out for. After sitting beside the desk, he began to understand Chris a little better because he found that even _he_ was a little more irritable than usual as a result of the pressure.

"This is going to suck." Claire let out a breathless laugh and Piers gently squeezed her shoulder.

"That's why we brought alcohol, remember?" He held up the flimsy cardboard beer carrier to illustrate his point and she pulled a bottle from its slot, wasting no time in popping off the cap and downing half of it in a hurried chug.

Piers whistled and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, sauntering over to one of the nightstands beside Chris's bed. He watched her move, eyes temporarily fixed on those damn jeans that clung to her like a second skin. _She's the Captain's sister, you asshole,_ he practically screamed at himself and he quickly looked away to lift an empty box, bringing it over to where she sat.

"We can stop at any time." He reminded her. "There's no rush. The house isn't going anywhere."

Claire nodded and took another gulp of her beer before pulling open the top drawer.

"Ah shit." She pulled out a handgun and moved her thumb over the emblem on the grip. "I haven't seen this since Raccoon City."

Piers sat beside her on the bed and looked over at the weapon, noting it to be a customized Beretta. He caught a glimpse of the gold and blue emblem that had been laid in its grip and raised an eyebrow.

"From S.T.A.R.S.?" He asked, having heard rumors about Chris's origins from other members of the B.S.A.A.

"Yeah," she laughed as she popped the magazine out of the gun, finding it fully loaded, "We used to laugh about this all the time."

"Why?"

Claire handed him the pistol and allowed him to look it over.

"The Chief of Police at the time had these customized for different members of S.T.A.R.S." She grinned, foreshadowing her subsequent laugh as she said, "The guy who made it called it the _Samurai Edge_."

Piers chuckled and handed it back to her. "That's a pretty lame name."

She gave it one final look before dropping it into the box.

"You were in Raccoon City too?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She froze in the midst of retracting her arm from the box and Piers quickly followed up with, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine." She fell backwards onto the bed, lying perpendicular with her legs dangling over its edge. "I've never really talked about it."

Piers followed suit, lying on his side beside her and propping his head up with one arm.

"It was September of 1998." She began, staring up at the ceiling with her hands resting over her ribcage. "Chris was living in Raccoon City. I was in college in a different city. We usually talked at least every other day, but I lost contact with him. By the third day, I knew something was wrong, so I headed out to Raccoon to find him."

She paused, looking over at Piers with an apologetic smile.

"This might end up being a long story." She warned. "You might not want to hear it."

Piers shook his head, "I have all the time in the world. I'd love to hear it."

Claire felt fizzy and bubbly, but she wasn't sure if it was from her rapid ingestion of alcohol or his presence. She gave him a sideways smile before looking back up at the ceiling, ignoring the way her heart rate increased.

"I didn't know anything about Umbrella or that zombies were even a _thing._ I found out later that Chris had already known and didn't even tell me! Can you believe that shit?"

"How old were you?" He asked, not waiting for her to respond before adding, "He probably didn't want you to worry about him."

Claire flipped onto her side and pointed at him accusingly.

"Nineteen, but hey! Don't defend him." She furrowed her brow, lips forming a pout. "I decided that I'm mad at him right now."

Piers raised an open palm in surrender, grinning, "Alright, alright. You're right. What an asshole!"

She smiled wide and sat up quickly, downing the rest of her beer and starting her second before lying back down.

"Guess how I found out about it?" She asked softly and Piers shrugged a shoulder.

"Did one try to eat you?" He asked amusedly and she nodded.

"Exactly! I stopped at a gas station and some asshole was bleeding all over the place. By the time I found the zombie, it was already eating a cop's face."

"What a way to find out." Piers sympathized. "Were you afraid?"

"I didn't have time to be."

She paused and her expression changed. Piers noticed the faraway look in her eyes, the telltale thousand-yard stare he'd seen on the faces of countless soldiers. He was tempted to reach out and touch her, to offer her some form of comfort, but she continued her story.

"You know Leon S. Kennedy?" Claire asked, voice hoarse.

"Not personally." Piers admitted. "I've heard of him."

"Well, consider yourself lucky then." She huffed, jolting upright to take another gulp of beer. "We met there for the first time. He was only a rookie cop then, but he helped me get to the Raccoon City Police Station. Of course, it was overrun with zombies and Chris was nowhere to be found."

She wrinkled her nose, grimacing at the memory, and Piers suspected that there was some dark history between the two.

"I met Sherry Birkin there, too. She was only a kid then, but she serves the DSO now. A lot of fucked up shit went down, like, uh...I killed her dad."

Piers maintained a serious expression and Claire gasped, falling onto the bed and facing him.

"Not like that! He was infected with the G-virus. He was a monster when I killed him."

"I figured, but," his eyes met hers, "You did what you had to do, Claire."

They were quiet for a moment, gazing into one another's eyes. Claire awkwardly cleared her throat and reached for her beer again and Piers opted to break the uncomfortable moment.

"So...did you ever find Chris?"

Claire coughed on her beer and spluttered, "Hell no! That asshole was in Europe! I had to go to fucking _Europe_ to find him and you wouldn't even begin to believe the bullshit I went through there."

Piers smiled and sat up, watching her reach into the drawer again. She pulled out a series of items and handed them to Piers one after another—a box of 9mm rounds, a container of antacids, a pair of earbuds, sunglasses, and…

She hesitated, holding a plastic orange bottle in her hand. Claire narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized the label.

"'Take once daily for depression.'" She read aloud, shaking her head as she did so.

Claire tossed it into the box, pills audibly rattling around in the container as it landed. She moved onto the bottom drawer and began tossing more items Piers's way—an empty wallet, a handful of pocket change, two wristwatches, and an expired box of condoms.

"Expired July of 2010." She rolled her eyes. "No wonder he became such a dick. He wasn't getting laid."

Her eyes widened as the dates aligned in her head.

"Jill died on February 17th of that year." She murmured somberly. "I guess I'm not mad at him anymore."

"Alright, we don't hate Chris right now." He frowned as he carefully placed the items in the box. "Sorry for what I said, Chris."

Piers was surprised when she reached over to place her hand over his. The warmth and softness of her skin made him close his eyes for a moment and she squeezed his hand appreciatively before quickly pulling away. Claire was on her third beer when they moved to the opposite side of the bed to empty the matching nightstand.

"You're supposed to be drinking with me." She scolded, offering him a bottle.

Piers accepted it and took a slow sip.

"We're _just _partners, Claire." She mocked in a deep voice that Piers assumed was her attempt at a Chris impression as she handed him a packet of birth control pills that were in the drawer.

Piers chuckled, a little impressed by the accuracy of her impersonation. "Sounds just like him."

"Thanks." She handed him another Beretta. "I've had my entire life to practice."

"What was she like?" Piers asked, trying his best to change the subject. "I can't even imagine what Chris's type would be."

Claire crossed her arms over her chest as she considered the question.

"Chris didn't have a type." She answered, "There was just Jill."

Piers found the revelation to be a little sad.

"She was serious, smart…" Claire sighed. "Calm. I don't think I ever saw her get mad. She balanced Chris out well. I think Jill was the only person who could control that lunkhead."

Claire looked over at Piers, cheeks stained red from the alcohol as she whispered, "I think I'm mad at him again."

"Fuck him." PIers said and she burst into a fit of giggles that made him grin like an idiot.

"Thanks for being here with me." She suddenly said, meeting his gaze. "I'm sure there are a thousand better things to do on a Friday night."

Piers pretended to contemplate the alternatives before saying, "Nah, I like this just fine."

She glared at him from over her shoulder as she walked over to the closet, skeptical of his claim.

"Oh, come on." She spoke in a reprimanding tone. "You're young, Piers. You could be hitting up some club or going on a hot date."

"Do I look like the kind of guy who goes clubbing?" He asked, extending his arms out at his sides as though putting himself on display.

Claire hesitated in the doorway of the open closet, bending forward at the waist to allow her narrowed eyes to roam over his figure in a judgmental way. Eventually, she straightened herself upright and shrugged, leaving him wondering what was running through her mind as she turned back to the closet. She pulled clothes out one at a time by the hanger, handing them to him to be folded and placed in the box.

"You think Chris wore these?" She asked, holding up a pair of blue lace panties that she retrieved from the floor of the closet.

Piers wore an expression of horror as he said, "Oh god, I hope not."

Claire's demeanor suddenly shifted as she pulled a heavy leather jacket from the depths of the closet. She clutched it tightly in her hands, absentmindedly caressing the fabric before impulsively slipping it on. It dwarfed her, falling at her mid-thigh and leaving awkward, empty pockets of fabric around her frame.

"We both had one of these." She explained, pivoting on her heel to reveal the angel printed on the back of the jacket.

"'Made in Heaven?'" Piers read, amused. "Maybe you, but Chris? Purgatory at best."

She smiled as she played with the edge of the jacket, hiding her face from his view. A soft sniffle came from her and she groaned, looking up at the ceiling as she dabbed at her damp eyes with the edge of an oversized sleeve.

"Sorry." She laughed as she shrugged out of the jacket, swiftly folding it and handing it to Piers. "It's been a few weeks. I shouldn't still be crying over shit like this."

Piers struggled to formulate a response. It didn't matter how much time had elapsed since Chris's death—her grief was valid.

"Don't say that." He said, voice low. "You can cry anytime you want, Claire. No matter how much time passes, this _sucks._ Chris, he…"

He was surprised by the hot sting of tears that formed in his own eyes.

"...he shouldn't have died."

He blinked away the wetness in his eyes with such speed that Claire wasn't entirely sure that she had seen it. She watched his hand flex into a fist, trembling slightly before relaxing once more.

"I think I need some fresh air." She quickly said, tucking loose hair behind her ear. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Of course." Piers snatched up a beer as he followed her to the back patio.

The night air was still and cool, causing him to shiver as he stepped out from the warm house. Claire looked upwards, observing the clear night sky as she moved to sit in the grass. She patted the earth beside her, watching Piers expectantly as she waited for him to join her.

"Of course he didn't have patio furniture." She grumbled and he lowered himself to the ground beside her, figuring that the grass was more comfortable than the hard cement.

They sat quietly, listening to the rustle of leaves and the wrinkling of their clothes each time they moved to sip at their beers. Claire sighed heavily and drew her knees up towards her chest, resting her chin on top of them as she hugged her legs close.

"I miss that asshole." She whispered, voice cracking.

Piers smiled ruefully as he said, "Me too, Claire."

She laid back on the dying sod with her arms crossed behind her head. Light from the kitchen filtered through the glass french doors leading inside the house, illuminating her in a warm light. Her cheeks were stained with an alcoholic flush and Piers watched her chest slowly rise and fall with the tide of her breathing.

"We all really looked up to him." Piers suddenly said. "_I _really looked up to him."

Claire watched his jaw harden as he rolled the bottle of beer between his hands pensively before speaking once again.

"I grew up in a military family. There's a long history between my family and the Army. My dad drilled it into me early on, made me think that joining Special Forces was what I was meant to do." Piers laughed bitterly. "So I did it, you know? I joined the Army, worked my ass off to make the cut for Special Forces, but once I finally made it in, I felt...empty."

"It was probably the biggest disappointment of my life." He frowned hard. "And I quickly became the biggest disappointment of my father's life when I resigned. The work just wasn't fulfilling. It was...it just wasn't what I expected."

He set the bottle down on the patio with an audible _clink_ and reclined back in the grass beside her.

"I met Chris back in 2010. Damn, I'll never forget it. We had only just met and he seemed like he was so fucking _proud_ of me. More proud than my dad had ever been. It made me feel...good, as lame as that sounds."

"It's not lame." Claire affirmed and he continued.

"He asked me to join the B.S.A.A. He said my skills would be invaluable, that he'd never seen such a deft sniper in all of his service. Chris warned me that the work wasn't easy, but the pay-off was good. He told me it gave his life meaning. Combating bioterrorism made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile."

"And that's what I had been looking for all along." He professed. "A purpose. A meaning."

Claire shifted the weight of her head, fingers going numb from both the cold and the pressure.

"Did you find it?" She quietly asked.

"Yeah." He paused. "For a while, at least. Now that Chris is gone, I…"

The breath he drew in was shaky, strained.

"I don't think I can do it anymore. I know they're going to permanently reassign me as Captain, but I'm not cut out for it. Every day, it feels like I'm drowning. I don't know how Chris did it. I'm so fucking afraid of failing that…"

Claire's hand found his and he gripped it tightly, engulfing it in his palm in an attempt to warm her cold skin. His thumb passed over the back of her hand in idle, repetitious strokes as he spoke.

"I already failed my dad. I can't fail them too."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut to combat the tears that threatened to fall. Despite his efforts, one escaped, trailing down the side of his face and splattering in the grass below.

"I don't know what to do." Piers laughed at himself, feeling pathetic as he spilled his guts to her. "I wish your brother was here to tell me what to do."

"Piers."

He turned to face her. His eyes met hers and she held his gaze for a moment before allowing her eyes to flutter shut. She breathed slowly, in through her nose and out through her mouth, at war with both her body and mind.

Claire kissed him. She pressed her mouth to his and he stiffened against her mouth, unmoving as his mind lagged in an attempt to process what was happening. Soon after, he began to reciprocate her actions, cupping the side of her face with his hand as he kissed her back with a tenderness that made her ache deep in her chest and between her thighs.

She shifted closer to him, shyly sweeping her tongue over his lower lip. Piers opened his mouth, holding her face in his hand as the other dove into her messy hair. She tasted like alcohol and he groaned when she nipped at his lower lip with a teasing, soft graze of her teeth. His tongue met hers and she trembled, pressing her thighs together to alleviate the ache between them.

He moved to hover over her, mouth still joined with hers as she rolled onto her back. Piers slipped an arm beneath her head for support, using the other to suspend his weight above her. He continued to kiss her, his slow movements becoming increasingly more desperate. She gasped into his mouth and he reluctantly pulled away, gently tugging at her lower lip with his teeth as he parted from her.

Piers pressed his forehead to hers as he struggled to catch his breath. She panted beneath him, her hot breath coming in short spurts against his lips that hovered above hers. Her lips were tingling, hot and slightly swollen, and she felt a fire deep in the pit of her stomach.

"Fuck, Claire, I'm—"

She kissed him again, quick and chaste.

"Don't say sorry." She murmured against his mouth, her lips brushing against his with each syllable that she spoke.

"I shouldn't have…" He closed his eyes, brow furrowed in frustration. "You're drunk and…"

"That's irrelevant." She hummed against his lips.

For the first time in his life, Piers set his morals aside, and he kissed Claire in a way she'd never been kissed before.


	4. Chapter 4

Piers was certain that any semblance of luck in his life had absolutely run dry. The B.S.A.A. had insisted on keeping him off the field in an effort to allegedly preserve his mental health, but the bastards had the gall of assigning him to manage a squad of new recruits. Babysitting a bunch of kids was certain to take more severe of a toll on his psyche than blasting B.O.W.s into smithereens and he couldn't quite understand where leadership was coming from with their decision.

"Cadets." He addressed, mouth pressed into a grim line as he regarded each with a hard stare. "I'm Lieutenant Piers Nivans. I will be overseeing your firearms training for the following week."

Wide-eyed stares and the low mumble of hushed whispers filled the room and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. It hadn't even been two minutes and he was already beginning to feel irritated.

"Permission to speak, sir!"

A bright-eyed recruit stood at attention and Piers let out a low sigh as he gestured for the kid to speak.

"Are you...SOU Nivans, like, the _sniper_?"

Piers crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at the cadet. The kid beside him quickly elbowed him in the ribs, hushing him as he kept a wary eye on Piers.

"No." He coolly replied. "I'm just a big fan of his."

The cadet—McConnell, according to his uniform—pursed his lips, looking perplexed. Piers addressed the rest of the group with an exasperated expression as he asked, "Any other stupid questions?"

"Sir!" Another kid spoke up. "Are you being sarcastic, sir? Are you really not the infamous sniper from Alpha Team, sir?"

Piers could feel a migraine coming on. He was sure of it.

"I heard he has over 500 confirmed kills…" McConnell whispered to the other cadet. "Do you think that's true?"

It was going to be a long week, not only because of his current assignment, but also due to the fact that he hadn't spoken to Claire in over a week. The guilt that weighed heavily on his conscience the morning after their last meeting was nearly suffocating. Why had he allowed himself to kiss her? She had been drunk and vulnerable. He had absolutely no right to encourage it.

The fact that she hadn't contacted him since made him particularly uneasy. He took her silence as proof that she recalled the events of that night. Did she regret it? Surely she did. He couldn't conjure up any other reason as to why she'd suddenly cut him off.

What did she possibly think of him now? He pondered it as he watched the cadets fire their rifles and cringed when he realized how everything must have seemed from her point of view. Piers had stepped into her life during a moment of tragedy and, instead of allowing her to grieve, he had taken advantage of her. Did she think it was his ulterior motive all along?

God, what an awful thought.

"Uhh, Lieutenant, sir!"

He regarded the cadet with a bored look.

"My gun won't fire, sir!"

Wordlessly, he took the rifle from the young man and began to troubleshoot it. As he pulled back on the bolt, he met resistance, and he glared at the kid.

"When's the last time you cleaned your weapon, cadet?"

The recruit trembled beneath his scrutiny as he meekly stated, "I...didn't know rifles needed cleaning, sir."

Piers couldn't contain the cold laughter that escaped him. Roughly, he shoved the rifle back into the cadet's hands and gestured towards the rest of the recruits.

"Well, cadet, you're gonna learn today. You should be an expert by the time you've finished cleaning everyone's rifles."

"But sir…" The recruit squirmed where he stood. "I'm not sure how to do so."

Briefly, he was rendered speechless. Piers narrowed his eyes as he studied the cadet, genuinely uncertain if the kid was being sincere or not. The light sheen of sweat that glistened on his forehead and the nervous bounce of his foot made him realize that he likely was.

"Do you think this is a fucking _game_?" He snapped. "This isn't a goddamn game, cadet! This is _real_ life and _real _war. Do you think there is room for incompetence on the battlefield?"

A pause.

"Answer me, cadet!" He shouted, hand clenched into a fist.

"I, uh...n-no sir. I don't believe there is, sir!" The recruit blinked hard, trying to keep tears from forming in his eyes.

"You're right, kid." Piers responded. "This kind of shit will get you killed. Do you understand me? You cannot even begin to fathom the horrific things that can happen to a person when dealing with B.O.W.s. This isn't just a war of weapons, cadet. This is about bioterrorism."

He pointed at the line of cadets who had begun to gawk behind him.

"You and all your friends will become one of _them_ if you keep this shit up and let me tell you...it's not a fun process."

With that, he furiously stomped off in search of the asshole who has the nerve to assign him to babysitting in the first place.

* * *

As far as Claire was concerned, there were few things in life that couldn't be soothed by chocolate. In the rare instances in which chocolate couldn't quite perform to standard, she often found that adding butter and sugar was enough to form the panacea she needed. It was because of this that she found herself in her kitchen for the first time in weeks as she attempted to throw together an impulsive batch of chocolate chip cookies to calm her nerves.

The fact that she was baking didn't keep her from stealing glances at her phone. Once she had successfully measured out her sugar, she peeked over at the screen to find it miserably empty save for notifications regarding the fifteen puppy gifs Moira had sent. Piers hadn't contacted her in over a week and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

Was he disgusted with her? Probably. Hell, she was disgusted with herself for what had happened during their last meeting. Why did she allow herself to get buzzed like a college girl at her first sorority party? Piers must have thought incredibly poorly of her. What kind of thirty-something-year-old woman allows herself to drunkenly make out with a younger man who she hardly knows while grieving over her dead brother?

She shook her head as though doing so would fling the overwhelming embarrassment that she felt from her mind. Should she reach out to him and apologize? Was it too late to pretend it never happened? Did he still respect her enough to give her the time of day? She wouldn't be surprised if he thought of her as easy.

Groaning at herself, Claire diverted her attention back to the task at hand. If Piers was a lost cause, so be it. She told herself that she was _probably_ too old for him anyway as she clumsily dumped the sugar into the bowl of her mixer. Truthfully, she didn't know how old he was, but she assumed he was too young to want to spend his free time with a thirty-something who behaves like a teenager at her first keg party.

That didn't stop her from physically jumping in surprise when her phone suddenly erupted with a shrill ring. She dropped the egg she was holding directly into the bowl, shells and all, and cursed out loud as she quickly rubbed her hands off on her jeans. Claire seized the phone with a long stretch of her arm, quickly sliding her finger across the screen to answer the call without taking the time to discover who her caller was.

"Hello?" She answered with an excited quiver in her voice that made her cringe.

"Guess who's back in town?"

It felt as though her heart had fallen to the deepest depths of her stomach.

"Leon." She deadpanned.

"You bet. How are you doing, Claire?"

"How am _I_ doing?" She let out a humorless laugh. "How the _fuck_ do you think I'm doing, Leon? My brother is dead and you couldn't even be bothered to attend the funeral."

Staticky silence was the only response she was granted until she heard him take a breath.

"Why am I sensing so much hostility from you? You know I was out of town, Claire. I would have come if I could have."

Claire nearly snorted from the force with which she laughed. Angrily, she began to pick pieces of egg shell from the bowl in hopes that it would help distract her from the conversation at hand.

"You could have come, Leon." She spat, irritation evident in her voice. "You could have taken bereavement. I know you didn't really give a shit about Chris, but you could have at _least_ done it for me."

"Hey, I totally cared about Chris. He raised my favorite woman, after all."

She wanted to bash her head against the countertop until she lost consciousness and was absolved from the conversation. Of all the people who could have called, why did it have to be him? It could have been Moira, Barry, a telemarketer...anyone else.

"Yeah, alright." Claire rolled her eyes. "Did you call me for a reason?"

"Just wanted to meet up with you. Are you busy tonight?"

Her lips parted, but before she managed to accept his offer, she caught herself. Was she busy? No, but she easily could be if Piers called. Claire had told herself that she was done with Leon's inability to commit when he failed to show up to Chris's funeral, but when Piers waltzed into her life, she had nearly forgotten about Leon's games entirely. He was a weakness, a disease, a _cancer_ that needed to be cut from her life. Moira had said it a hundred times before, but in that moment, Claire finally knew it.

"Sorry. I have plans."

"Come on, Claire. You never have plans."

She realized she had poured salt in place of baking soda into the mixture. The bastard was souring her mood _and_ her cookies.

"Yeah, well, I do tonight." She hissed. "I'd tell you to call Ada instead, but I suppose you still haven't gotten her number, right?"

With that, she hung up the phone with her heart pounding in her chest and huffed. Hopefully she had enough butter to start over.

* * *

He felt like an asshole for verbally crucifying the kid. Piers couldn't explain why he'd lost his temper, but he told himself that the hard dose of reality was likely what most of the recruits needed. He'd seen Chris snap multiple times and harshly lecture just about anyone who was worthy of his wrath regardless of rank. Everyone knew the assholes who pushed paper from the safety of their desks to recruit new blood could use a reality check and it only seemed fair to let the new recruits know what they were _truly_ up against

Still, he felt guilty. Piers rubbed at his temples as he sat at his desk, both vexed and overwhelmed. Leadership clearly was not in his cards. He would much rather continue on as a loyal lapdog for the dickheads barking orders than risk becoming one of them himself. How the hell Chris put up with the bullshit of it all, he'd never know.

Sighing, Piers gathered the loose papers that had accumulated on his desktop and arranged them into a neat stack. Chris had been a lot of things to him in his life—a leader, a captain, a comrade, and a friend—and Piers hated that he hadn't realized it until now. From the very moment he enlisted in the B.S.A.A., Chris had become a very vital crutch in his life, and he suddenly realized just how lost he had become without his support.

Pulling open the drawer of his desk, Piers peeked at his phone. Unsurprisingly, he found no new notifications and, more importantly, not attempt at contact from Claire. Was he overcompensating and trying to insert her into the hole Chris had left behind? He didn't think so. Claire was different from Chris in so many ways that comparing them didn't seem fair. Chris was brash, volatile, and just whereas Claire was brave, calm, and kind. Regardless of their differences, there was no denying their shared blood. The fiery Redfield spirit was evident in both of them.

He missed her. Though Claire hadn't been in his life for very long, he had grown accustomed to her presence. He missed her laugh, her down-to-earth outlook, those damn jeans of hers. Piers missed being near her and he wanted to kick himself for being such a dick by making out with her. Claire very well might have been the best thing that ever happened to him.

2144\. It was long past the hour in which he should have left, but Piers realized there wasn't much to do when he wasn't in the office. Before Chris passed, he had devoted himself in his entirety to the fight on bioterrorism. He lived and breathed it, rarely finding the time to return to his apartment that was the farthest thing from a home. It had always felt foreign to him, fully furnished with furniture he'd hardly used and equipped with a fridge that seemed incredibly bare without sticky note reminders tacked to its surface. An empty apartment was the last place he wanted to be. Being at home always seemed to make him feel even more lonesome than he already was and he wasn't entirely sure that was something he wanted to confront when he was already down.

Piers didn't realize his destination until he was already on the street Chris lived on. He had shifted into auto-pilot mode and genuinely couldn't even recall his drive, much less the walk to his car. The decision to head to Chris's place was one he couldn't justify. There was no real purpose for him being there. Was it because he had nowhere better go? Did a small, subconscious part of him hope to find a hint of Claire there?

He didn't know, but he jumped the privacy fence in the backyard anyway. Piers stretched out on the back patio, lack of furniture be damned, and reclined with his arms behind his head as he closed his eyes. He listened to the rustle of leaves carried by the wind and the faint chirp of the few crickets who hadn't yet fled from the brisk weather. Such things, reminiscent of the field and never present outside his apartment in the suburbs, brought him a sense of peace.

But, as he reflected on events in his life, Piers began to wonder whether it was the outdoors or the company that brought him relief while out on missions. Before meeting Chris, he had been haunted by a pervasive sense of longing that he could never truly fulfill. Joining the B.S.A.A. under Chris's influence had somehow lessened that burden by giving him work that seemed fulfilling—or, rather, work that he could _convince _himself that was more fulfilling. Chris inspired him and became constant company.

Was it appropriate to call them friends? He wasn't sure. His relationship with Chris was unique in comparison to those with the other guys on Alpha Team. They were...closer, maybe, but still strangers in some capacity. Chris rarely spoke about himself, but Piers seemed to know him like the back of his own hand. He knew his preferences, could complete his sentences, predicted his actions…

Until Chris _died_ for him, that is. Chris's sacrifice loomed over his head like a persistent black cloud. With each breath he drew, he thought about Chris. Each moment in which he found himself aware of his own beating heart, he thought about Chris. Every single time he looked into Claire's bright blue eyes, he thought about Chris.

"Fuck." He murmured, running a hand over his face in exasperation. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

The night air was cold against his skin when he pulled his hand away to look up at the sky. Piers seemed to be perpetually addled by guilt as of late. How does one rectify the mistakes he had made? If Claire ever discovered the circumstances of Chris's death, would she be able to forgive Piers, or would she wish it had been him in lieu of her brother? The latter seemed more likely and Piers wondered if he should perhaps hate himself. He was a failed son, comrade, soldier...hell, a failed _person._ All the training and discipline has ultimately resulted in _what_?

Chris's death. That's what.

The sound of metal scraping against metal interrupted his private pity party. He jolted upright and turned to find Claire standing in the doorway, hand still held against the sliding door. She seemed stunned, eyes wide and fixed on Piers, and the two simply stared at one another for a moment, neither daring to speak.

Piers cleared his throat and managed a meek, "Hey, Claire."

Her lips pulled into a slight smile and she placed a hand on her hip as she sighed, shaking her head slowly.

"I thought you had died too." She chided, smile having dissolved as she glared hard at him.

Piers cringed.

"No, I just…"

He just _what?_ Couldn't nut up because he was embarrassed for having kissed a woman? Was too busy feeling sorry for himself to give her a call? Didn't take the time to think about how she must have felt?

"...I'm just an idiot." He laughed, unsure of what else to do or say as he rose to stand.

"All men are idiots." She quipped, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the door frame. "It doesn't make you special."

She was mad and he couldn't blame her. He had been a complete jackass.

"Behind every good man is an even better woman?" He offered with a sheepish smile.

Claire watched him for a moment as he averted his attention from her to the cement below his feet. A tinge of pink surfaced in his cheeks and she wasn't entirely sure if it was a result of his embarrassment or the weather. Nonetheless, she felt her anger lessen. He seemed genuinely sorry, a trait that she had never once observed in Leon after he chose to ignore her for months on end.

She felt her heart flutter in her chest. Why was she comparing him to Leon? They had made out once. It wasn't like she and Piers had anyth—

Claire felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her as Piers pulled her into a nearly crushing embrace. He held her tightly against him, one arm looped around her back as his opposite hand held her head cradled against his chest. She instantly returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his strong body and pulling herself just a little closer to him. Claire allowed her eyes to close as she nuzzled against him, reveling in his warmth and the strong, hard planes of his body. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and sighed.

"I missed you," he confessed, "I'm a dumbass."

The admission surprised her. While she had absolutely missed him too, she hadn't expected him to reciprocate the sentiment. She had spent the last week on the verge of hysterics as she beat herself up for her conduct, but it seemed that Piers didn't find her to be as cheap and easy as she had feared. _Fuck_, she was stupid.

Claire pulled away slightly to look up at him. Even in the pale, cold moonlight, his hazel eyes seemed impossibly warm. He watched her with an expression that she couldn't read and she suddenly felt incredibly small beneath his watch.

"I missed you too." She forced in spite of her nervousness. "And I'm also a dumbass."

Piers grinned, chuckling a little to himself as he shook his head.

"You're a lot of things, but a dumbass isn't one of them."

Something hovered in the air between them, a heavy tension that threatened to smother the both of them. Claire took in a staggered breath and he found that thinking was a challenge with her body pressed against his. She blinked, parting her lips a little to allow her tongue to absentmindedly dart across her lower lip. His eyes followed every movement as time seemed to slow.

Piers kissed her—softly, at first, but the press of her hips against his caused him to gasp and Claire took advantage of the access. Standing on her tiptoes, she threaded her fingers together at the back of his neck to bring him downwards as her tongue met his. Piers groaned into her mouth as he buried his fingers in hair that had been haphazardly pulled up, forcing the tie to loosen and threaten to escape from her mess of hair at any moment. The hand he pressed to the small of her back was hot and insistent, keeping her flush against him.

Claire's lips were flushed and swollen when she lowered herself to her heels and allowed one hand to nervously play with the edge of his jacket.

"Fuck." She hoarsely whispered. "I swear I'm not usually like this."

Piers laughed as his hands settled on her hips.

"Neither am I." He confessed. "Only for you."

She kissed him this time in a way that wasn't quite so innocent. Claire nipped teasingly at his lower lip with a gentle catch of her teeth and he pulled her hips against his. She felt him pressed against her pelvis, unmistakably hard, and became distinctly aware of the throbbing sensation between her own thighs.

Claire took fistfuls of the front of his shirt as she stepped backwards, leading him in through the still open doorway. With his mouth still against hers, he fumbled for the door behind him and pulled it closed with a little more force than intended. He cupped her face in his hands and groaned into her mouth as she sucked his lower lip between her teeth.

"Jesus, Claire." He murmured against her mouth. "I don't think…"

"Don't." She mumbled back, lips still in contact with his.

A buck of her pelvis against his was enough to silence him. She slid her hands beneath the front of his jacket and pushed it back, compelling him to remove it and toss it aside in a heap on the kitchen floor. Claire gripped the front of his shirt once more as she kissed along the line of his jaw, pulling him with her as she carefully stepped backwards down the hallway. Her lips grazed over his throat and he shivered, biting his lower lip as she briefly sucked the sensitive skin of his neck into her mouth.

Neither stopped to consider the fact that they were in Chris's house, stumbling into Chris's bedroom to romp around in Chris's sheets. Claire staggered backwards until the backs of her thighs came into contact with the edge of the mattress and she peeled herself away from Piers to slip her hands beneath his shirt and insistently pull it off.

He was everything she could have expected beneath his clothes, all toned muscle and tanned skin fitting of a soldier. She trailed her fingers across the sculpt of his chest appreciatively as she kissed him and Piers couldn't help but smile against her mouth. His own hands found the hem of her shirt and he gave it a light, playful tug, prompting her to step back and look up at him expectantly.

Piers acted slowly. He was methodical in his movements, allowing his fingertips to trail over every inch of her skin as it was leisurely exposed. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until he found the edge of her bra and followed the shape of it with his fingers before tugging off her shirt and neatly draping it over the edge of the mattress.

He followed the line of her collarbone with the pad of his thumb, pausing over each solitary freckle or scar that stood out along her skin. His fingers swept over the curve of her shoulder and the front of her chest and Claire felt incredibly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. Age and desk work at TerraSave had changed her body, leaving her a little soft around the edges, and she wondered if he wanted to change his mind.

Piers hooked a finger beneath the strap of her bra and slid it over the edge of her shoulder at an agonizingly slow pace before reaching for the closure at her back. He paused for a moment, watching her in an attempt to gauge her reaction, and pressed a kiss against her temple as he undid the clasp. His mouth remained pressed against her skin as he carefully slid the garment down the length of her arms and gently set it on top of her shirt. When he stepped back to look at her, he felt his heart skip a beat. His palms passed over the flare of her hips and moved upwards, hesitating at the front of her ribs.

"Are you sure?" He asked, voice husky and thick. "Because, Jesus, Claire, I don't think I'll be able to stop if—"

Unsure of how else to respond, she rose to her tiptoes once again and kissed him hard. He groaned into her mouth and allowed his hands to advance, cupping her breasts in his hands and eliciting a gasp from her. Piers buried his face in the space between her neck and shoulder as he kneaded them with careful palms, occasionally allowing his thumbs to pass over her hardened nipples.

Claire grasped at him, fingers digging into the hard cords of muscle that formed his back. A quiet whimper escaped her and he slid his leg between her thighs, brushing along her aching center. She clenched her eyes closed and instinctively rolled her hips forward, allowing him to feel the heat of her despite their clothes.

Piers reluctantly released her and began to gradually lower himself to his knees. As he moved to kneel, he let his lips explore the front of her body, beginning at the center of her sternum and coming to a halt at the low rise of her jeans. He undid them with deft hands and looked up at her as he managed to breathlessly warn her, "Last chance."

Claire raked her fingers through his hair and awkwardly laughed as she admitted, "I want this, Piers."

He stripped her, pulling back her jeans and leaving them in a pool at her feet. Piers wrapped his hand around each ankle, helping her step out of them, and ran his palms along her legs in an upward stroke. He pressed a kiss to the front of her thigh and watched her face as he began to remove the last of her lingerie, ignoring the palpable tremble of her thighs.

Claire held her breath. Piers held his.

She was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

"Piers, don't." Her voice trembled with embarrassment. "It's awkward."

He shook his head, applying pressure to her hips and guiding her to sit on the edge of the mattress. Claire pressed her legs together and he gingerly rested a hand on her knee.

"Claire, just let me." He pleaded, amber eyes meeting hers. "You're beautiful."

Her heart thrummed loudly in her ears and she felt that the air was too heavy to breathe as he opened her thighs. She couldn't force herself to watch him out of fear of the expressions that might pass over his face and she closed her eyes as she gripped the sheets. The air was cold against the wetness on her thighs and she felt that she might die out of embarrassment. Piers had probably been with far less desperate women.

She felt his lips against the inside of her thigh and she stiffened. A finger brushed over her entrance and her body jumped in surprise. Piers lifted her thighs, knocking her off balance, and she fell back against the mattress. With her legs draped over his shoulders, he slid closer, and she felt his hot, moist breath against her. She rose slightly, supporting herself on her elbows, and felt her face burn with a flush at the sight of him between her thighs.

"Piers, really, you don't…"

He nudged her thighs open as she attempted to close them.

"Claire, _please_."

He dragged the flat of his tongue against her from bottom to top and she swore she saw stars. She fell back to the bed with a gasp and fondled the sheets, blindly searching for something to keep her grounded. Piers took her hand in his, entwining their fingers together as he pressed the tip of his tongue against her nub.

Her hips bucked forward on their own accord and he buried his face in her. He teased her with his lips and tongue, eventually sliding a finger inside of her. Claire writhed in his hold, gasping and whimpering as she threatened to come undone. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths and he pulled her closer to him, sucking and lightly nipping at her aching flesh.

Claire lost herself. Her body trembled as she was enveloped in white hot heat. She felt dizzy, weightless even as her vision returned and she found herself staring up at the stark white of Chris's ceiling. The room seemed to be spinning and she was faintly aware of Piers lifting her and positioning her more properly on the bed.

He hovered over her and pressed kisses to the side of her face, slowly pulling her back to reality.

"Are you alright?" He asked, voice physically rumbling in her ear in their close proximity.

She could only manage a nod as she weakly embraced him. Piers chuckled and explored her body with his mouth once more, moving from her collarbone to her sternum to her breast. He grazed his teeth over her nipple, causing her breath to hitch in her throat, and pressed a kiss against her ribcage.

"I really like you, Claire." He whispered against the flat of her belly.

Claire felt bubbly.

"I really like you too, Piers." She murmured back, running her fingers through his hair.

She hadn't realized he had slipped out of his own pants until she felt him against her wet entrance. He was impossibly hard and cold in comparison to her, slick with his own arousal, and he hesitated as he probed at her entrance.

"I don't usually do this."

Claire laughed as she looked him in the eyes.

"Neither do I."

She lifted her hips a little, causing the tip of him to sink within her. Piers groaned, eyes rolling back in his head at the hot, slick feel of her.

"I know you said it already, but are you su—"

His words dissipated into a low moan as she moved, taking more of him.

"Yes." She hissed, inching forward along his length. "I want this."

Piers slipped an arm beneath her shoulders to cradle her close to him as he pushed into her. She winced, breathing slowly through her nose as he paused to allow her to become familiar with the feel of him. He felt heavy and wide, _different_ from Leon, and she flexed tightly around him.

"Claire." Piers groaned, burying his face in her hair. "I…"

She thrust forward, filling herself to the brim with him. Piers gasped and repositioned himself, placing his hands on her hips as he began to slowly drive in and out of her. She met his thrusts with her own, pushing forward as he filled her to take him as deeply as possible. He struggled to keep his pace, close to coming undone, and he lifted her hips to drape her legs over his shoulders.

He held her hands, their fingers locked together tightly as he took her. Piers pistoned in and out, his length drenched with her, and he felt her draw him in closer with an adamant press of her calves against his back. He took her hips in his hold and increased his pace, pressing his thumb against her swollen bud and working it in slow circles. Piers kept his eyes fixed on her face as she came, following suit at the sight of her beneath him with her hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and mouth parted in awe. He felt the pressure in his lower belly lighten and he let out a sigh of relief, skin tingling and heart pounding.

They remained locked in position for a moment with Piers still inside of her. Claire made a quiet sound in her throat as she attempted to remove her legs from his shoulders and he helped her, pulling out of her slowly and groaning at the feel. She shivered, a reaction to both her post-coital state and the chill, and craned her neck to kiss him.

Piers kissed her gently as he lowered himself to the mattress beside her. He wrapped an arm around her and held her against him, brushing his nose against hers. Claire laughed and buried her face in his chest out of embarrassment, feeling both giddy and ashamed. He idly rubbed her back, working circles along the expanse of her skin, and she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

"Piers?" She asked, voice barely audible.

He hummed slightly, his own eyes fluttering closed as the motion of his hand slowed.

"Thanks."

He placed a kiss to the crown of her head—the last thing both of them recalled before simultaneously drifting off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Upon opening her eyes, Claire found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The water stain that claimed the space above her bed in her apartment was startlingly absent and a heavy, warm weight was draped over her. She quickly turned her head to the side to find Piers beside her, still asleep with an arm slung around her. Sighing with relief, she pressed a hand to her chest to will her racing heart to slow, but her solace was short-lived. Claire jolted upright in horror and buried her face in her hands to hide the shame that scalded her cheeks as recollections of the night prior came flooding through her mind.

Piers felt her sudden movement and stirred. With the discipline of a soldier, he opened his eyes without complaint and swiftly transitioned into an awake state. He studied Claire's back, following her long lines and curves, and smiled a little to himself. His reunion went far better than expected and ended in a way he never would have predicted, but that was not to say he wasn't incredibly thrilled by it.

"You alright?" He asked softly, voice gruff from sleep.

Claire pulled her face away from her hands to peek at him from the corner of her eye.

"Please don't tell me that we had sex in my dead brother's bed." She nearly whimpered, preemptively wincing because she already anticipated his answer.

Piers laughed and wrapped an arm around her, guiding her to lay back down on the mattress. He held her close with her head resting on his shoulder as he pulled the blankets upwards to cover her bare skin. Claire relaxed slightly against him, soothed by both his presence and his warmth, but guilt still weighed heavily on her soul.

"Seems like we did." He smiled at the way she buried her face in his shoulder to hide her reaction as she groaned.

"Oh god, what if he _knows_?" She asked in horror, eliciting another chuckle from Piers.

"I think it's safe to say that he has no idea." He replied, amused by her irrational fear.

Claire lifted the sheets away slightly, barely holding them between two fingers as though they had somehow offended her as she grumbled, "We can't keep these."

Piers trailed his fingers over the flare of her hip beneath the sheets in an idle gesture. Her comment perplexed him. Why was Claire so anxious about the sheets? Nonetheless, he played along.

"Why not?"

Claire wrinkled her nose in disgust and dropped them from her hold.

"We should burn them." She insisted. "This is definitely a sin. We need to hide the evidence."

Piers laughed.

"I didn't realize you were religious." He commented with an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Claire shook her head, a movement that he felt against his chest.

"I'm not, but we still need to burn them just in case."

He wore a smirk as he flipped their positions, pressing Claire into the mattress as he hovered over her to keep from smothering her with his weight. Piers studied her as she laid below him, blue eyes wide in surprise and her auburn hair splayed out across the sheets. He curled a tendril of it around his finger as he leaned in close to her, pressing his lips against the shell of her ear while he murmured, "We better put them to good use first."

* * *

Moira narrowed her eyes as she glared at Claire from across the table. Her dark fringe had grown out and threatened to fall into her eyes, but it didn't deter her from maintaining the best scowl she could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, balancing herself on its two back legs as she maintained her hard stare.

"Something is up with you." She asserted and Claire held up her hands in defense.

"Nothing is up with me." Claire insisted, mildly irritated by how perceptive Moira had become over their years of friendship.

"You know I'll figure it out eventually, right?" Moira threatened. "Might as well tell me now."

"I think I'm ready to go back to work." Claire blurted out, sipping her water to keep from having to speak further.

Moira, unconvinced, scrutinized Claire for a moment longer before acquiescing. She ran a hand through her short hair, leaving it tousled but making no effort to correct it. Instead, she reached across the table to steal a fry off Claire's plate and chewed it thoughtfully.

"Sounds like a horrible idea." She countered. "You should milk it for all the time off you can get."

Claire laughed as she pushed her plate closer to the younger woman, relinquishing the rest of her fries as a peace offering.

"I'm not going to do that." She spoke in a reprimanding tone as she gave Moira a critical look. "I'm just getting bored with being at home all the time."

"Then get a man to keep you busy." Moira quipped through a mouthful of fries.

Claire choked on her drink at the suggestion. As her heart began to beat loudly in her chest, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and averted her gaze away from Moira. She stared at the tabletop as though she could bore holes in it with her eyes, tilting her face downwards in an effort to hide the blush that inevitably began to surface on her cheeks. Since when did she act like a teenager when it came to men?

Moira dropped a fry in the midst of its trajectory towards her mouth and pointed at Claire accusingly.

"Oh my _god_!" She laughed incredulously. "Seriously, Claire? You're seeing someone and you didn't even tell me?!"

Claire shook her head with such force that her ponytail nearly whipped her in the face.

"I'm not, really." She half-lied. It wasn't like Piers was taking her home to meet his parents or anything. It wasn't serious. She had only slept with him. Twice...and a half.

In _Chris's_ bed.

She thought she was going to be sick.

"You are such a bad liar." Moira shook her head, clearly disappointed in her friend. She finished off the last of the pile of fries and froze in the midst of wiping her hands off on her napkin.

"Wait a second," she glowered at Claire, "You better not be fucking Kennedy, because I swear to god, Claire, I will rip hi—"

"It's not Leon!" Claire abruptly answered, waving her hands in the air to force Moira into silence as she surveyed the patrons nearby to ensure half the restaurant hadn't heard her threat. Moira appeared to be satisfied with the answer as she snatched up the dessert menu from the edge of the table and began to boredly scan its contents.

"Who is he?"

Claire wasn't sure how to answer. She couldn't outright confess that she was maybe _possibly_ sort of dating her late brother's second-in-command. Moira would certainly have a mouthful to say about it. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders, doing her best to appear nonchalant about it.

"Just some guy. It's not serious."

Moira snorted as she waved down the waitress, "Shut the fuck up, Claire. You and I both know you don't just fuck random men. Hell, you've only ever fucked that dickward whose name shall no longer be spoken."

She flashed a bright, wide smile at the waitress who stood at the edge of the table and gave them both a slack-jawed look on account of Moira's colorful language.

"My friend needs cake to soothe her soul." She quickly changed gears as she gestured towards the menu. "I think she's feeling carrot cake because she's such a prude, but I'm totally smitten for this sexy red velvet."

Claire frowned deeply at Moira as the waitress retreated with the order.

"Thanks for that." Claire hissed and Moira shrugged, unaffected by her disdain.

"If you don't tell me about your new boy toy, I'll do a lot worse."

How childish.

"He's...really nice." She admitted with a sigh. "Has a good head on his sh—"

"Yeah, but is he _hot_?" Moira interjected. "Please tell me he's hot and not one of the gross, dad-bod, creepy divorcees from TerraSave who always try to hit you up around the water cooler."

Claire felt her skin crawl at the mention of them.

"No, he's in the B.S.A.A." She thoughtlessly answered. As soon as the words rolled off her tongue, she drew her mouth closed and silently prayed that Moira hadn't heard her.

"Oh shit! You're banging a hot-ass soldier?" Moira slid forward in her seat, her attention piqued as she listened intently to Claire's incredibly lacking description. "Do tell me more."

Claire was grateful for the waitress's return despite the cringe that she wore. Once she set the plates down before the two of them, she quickly shuffled off, no doubt to avoid interacting with Moira.

"I don't know, Moira." She sighed and speared the massive slice of cake with her fork.

"God, Claire, you're so fucking _lame._" Moira rolled her eyes. "Is he older? Younger?"

"Younger." She meekly replied and Moira's face lit up.

"Oh shit, you _cougar_!" She shoved a massive forkful of cake into her mouth after imitating a low growl. "I don't even need to ask if his dick is bigger than Kennedy's because, damn, that can't be a difficult competition to win."

Claire gawked at Moira in horror, causing the sponge of her cake to fall off her fork and land back onto the plate. The younger woman only smirked as she stole a bite of Claire's cake for herself.

"So I'm right." She popped the cake into her mouth. "He better treat you right with that massive dick of his."

Claire nearly aspirated her cake and began to cough wildly, fanning her face with her hand in an attempt to alleviate the scald of her flush. Moira gestured with her hands, leaving a generously wide space between them as she asked, "So, like, this big or what?"

The waitress had returned to drop off the check, her own cheeks flushed in embarrassment over the nature of the conversation. Claire buried her face in her hands and hoped dearly that she had enough cash to cover the munificent tip she intended to leave behind as an apology.

* * *

"You asked to see me, sir?"

Piers poked his head in the doorway of Barry's office, drawing the older man's attention away from the report he was reading. Barry smiled cordially, emphasizing the wrinkles around his eyes and enhancing the fatherly qualities of the older man. Piers was only faintly acquainted with Barry through Chris, but Barry had always made an effort to make him feel welcome whenever an encounter between the two occurred.

"Ah, Piers!" He shuffled the papers across his desk and gestured towards an empty seat.

Piers accepted the seat, fluidly moving towards it and sitting upright with the ramrod posture of a soldier in the presence of his superior. Barry laughed good-naturedly and shook his head at the sight.

"There's no need to be so formal here." Barry leaned back in his own chair to make himself comfortable. "Relax, please."

Piers did as he was told, sinking back into the padding of the chair. He felt out of place, awkward, and incredibly uncomfortable.

"I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright. They're putting a hell of a lot on you." Barry explained, grimacing at the mention of Piers's newfound responsibilities. "It'd be hard on anyone."

Hearing Barry's concern caught Piers by surprise. Following Chris's funeral, no one had bothered to inquire about his well-being. The fact that a man with whom he had very little contact was more concerned than his own colleagues was equally touching and disturbing.

"Well, I…" He fumbled for words, mouth momentarily agape before forming a sheepish smile. "I'm...getting used to it."

Truthfully, he didn't even convince himself with that claim. Piers knew he wasn't getting used to anything, but he didn't dare admit it aloud. Barry's demeanor shifted to one of sternness. He let out a long sigh and shook his head.

"I know I'm not Chris," Barry began, "But I know a few things. If you ever need help, my door is always open."

Piers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He and Barry had next to no relationship, so he didn't necessarily feel at ease discussing much of anything with the man. Regardless, he forced a smile and nodded in thanks. Before he was forced to summon a response, the door to Barry's office was thrust open.

"Barry!" Moira stomped in, waving her hands about animatedly. "I'm gonna need to borrow your ID to run some top secret investigative work!"

She paused in the midst of her warpath to give Piers a perplexed look.

"Who's this?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Piers wondered how an adult could conduct themselves in such a manner. Was she oblivious or simply willingly boisterous?

"Ahh, this is Piers." Barry spoke as though she should somehow know the name. "Used to work with Chris. He's captain of Alpha Team."

"_Interim_ captain." Piers quickly corrected.

Moira openly stared at him, her brown eyes passing over his frame twice. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was clearly summing him up and Piers felt even more tense than before as a result of it.

"You know the Redfields then?" Moira narrowed her eyes at him and Piers wondered if this was an interrogation.

"I...do." He raised an eyebrow as he entertained her question. "Or..._did_?"

Moira stepped forward, setting her jaw hard in an attempt to seem intimidating.

"You know what I'm asking, Paul." She hissed. "Do you know _Claire_?"

"Piers." He didn't bother to address the question.

"Alright, listen here, Pete!" She slammed her hand down on Barry's desk for emphasis. "I ask questions. You answer them. It's simple."

Barry noticed the horrified look on Piers's face and spoke up.

"Piers, this is my daughter, Moira." He pointed at the young woman as though she wasn't already the center of attention. Piers nodded, but was unable to formally greet her as she fired off another question.

"So, Pablo, you got any felonies on your record?"

Her petulant behavior was beginning to grate his nerves, but he feigned politeness as best he could in order to save face.

"None that I'm aware of." He shrugged. "Do you?"

The corner of her lips twitched as though tempted to form a smirk, but she accusingly pointed at him as she shouted, "Hey! What did I say about asking questions?"

"Ah, right." He looked over at Barry and the older man mouthed an apology.

"Honey," Barry interrupted as an attempt to give Piers mercy from his daughter's wrath, "What is it that you needed?"

Moira bent forward at the hips, bringing her face close to Piers's. Her eyes narrowed, dark irises barely visible between her long, thick lashes. Moira snarled as she maintained eye contact with the older man.

"I'm either gonna high five or kill someone in the B.S.A.A." She ominously revealed. "I need to identify a person of _extreme_ interest."

She gnashed her teeth at Piers and he pulled back, nearly toppling his chair backwards.

"You know I can't do that, dear." Barry laughed as he shook his head. "Piers, I'm afraid we will have to cut this meeting short."

Thank _god_.

"No apology needed, sir." Piers swiftly moved to stand. "We can catch up another time."

As he turned to exit, Moira shouted out, "Hey! Piers!"

He cringed before turning back to face her.

"You better watch yourself." She warned, drawing an imaginary line across her neck as though attempting to slit her own throat. "You aren't off the list."

Piers nodded, but the disinterest on his face was apparent and only served to stoke the flames of Moira's anger.

"Just for that, you're at the top now!" She stepped close and jammed a finger into his chest as she whispered out of Barry's earshot, "If you're screwing with Claire, I'll feed your dick to a pack of hungry Cerberus while it's still attached to your stupid, chiseled man body."

That time, Piers legitimately felt fear.

* * *

Claire wasn't sure what she expected upon returning to work, but she hadn't anticipated _this_.

The young intern stood awkwardly in the doorway of Claire's office, knuckles white from grasping the massive vase in her hands. Claire stared hard at the flower arrangement, taking in the various shades of red, pink, and white. She didn't care much for roses and the fact that she had received a flashy, obnoxiously large bouquet of them was an immediate indicator of who had sent them.

"They came two days ago." The girl revealed as she moved to set them on the desk.

Claire continued to glare at them as though they were the most insulting thing in the world.

"Right. Thanks, Sarah."

Once she had left, Claire snatched up the small card attached to the ribbon tied around the vase and took no care in tearing it open.

_Claire,_

_I'm sorry for being an ass. You're right as always._

_Leon_

She crumpled the small card into a ball with her fist and dropped it carelessly onto her desk. Claire knew good and damn well that his half-assed apology was an empty one at best. In fact, she swore she had received the same card from him more than a few times in the past.

Her relationship with Leon had always been fractured. Surviving the Raccoon City Incident with one another had left them bonded by some invisible thread of fate, she had been led to believe, and there were moments in which she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to relate to anyone else. Leon had told her that he felt similarly, that no other woman could ever be what she was to him and vice versa. At the time, she had been young and dumb enough to believe it, and she had been young and dumb enough to fall in love.

Though they parted ways after Raccoon City, Leon remained a constant in her life. In the beginning, she spent much of her free time worrying about him, fearing that his silence was proof of something more sinister than a dead battery or a mission that had been extended. Claire feared for his life and it made her become an anxious person over the years. She pined for him in the worst of ways, prayed for his safety and loyally waited for his inevitable return.

Leon stuck around, making himself known when it was convenient for himself. There were countless nights in which she was awoken in the middle of the night to a loud rapping at her door and found Leon hunched over on her doorstep, drunk and miserable after surviving another mission gone wrong. Her heart broke every time to see him that way—vulnerable, hurt, and defeated—and, though she knew she'd wake up to cold sheets in the morning, she fell for it every time.

They never talked about the nature of their relationship. It became their unspoken ritual for her to comfort him in the most physical of ways when he was left broken by either Ada or the war on bioterrorism. She hated herself every time, but she couldn't seem to break it off. Leon was a drug, a weakness that she couldn't overcome, but she never let herself believe it before. Claire was an Olympist in mental gymnastics, always convincing herself that things would change and Leon would someday become the man he once was in Raccoon City.

She would have given anything to help him heal. Claire loved him in ways she had never loved anyone else. He was her first and only, but whether or not he knew that, she didn't know. She was certain that she never was or would be his first or only. Claire was doomed to be second best, his perpetual runner-up when he couldn't get what he craved most.

Why had she let herself believe that was alright for so long? Claire supposed it was for the same reason Chris chose to suffer in silence with the ghost of Jill Valentine haunting every facet of his life—love. What a shitty drug it was.

The secretary, Rachael, ducked into the office while rifling through a plastic bin of mail. Once she looked up from it, she dropped the envelopes she had retrieved back into the bin and rushed over to the bundle of roses.

"Oh my gosh, Claire, I am _sooo_ jealous!" She shrieked, breathing in the scent of the flowers. "What a thoughtful guy you have!"

Claire snorted at the remark. Thoughtful? _Leon_?

She didn't even _like_ roses.

"Yeah, lucky me." Claire deadpanned and the younger woman gave her a harsh look.

"Some women would kill to be in your shoes, you know." She mumbled, slapping the mail down onto Claire's desk and promptly exiting the small office.

Somehow, Claire didn't think that was the case.

* * *

Piers was only minding his own business and enjoying his lunch in solitude when Moira showed up. She slammed her tray down on the table he sat at, drawing his attention away from the exhaustive list of budget requests he had been issued.

"Patrick." She greeted in a low tone, dumping herself in the chair adjacent his and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Mary." He countered with the most stoic expression he could muster.

Moira smirked slightly, a subtle expression that Piers might have missed had he blinked at that moment. She allowed her attention to wander from his face to his meal and back, her dark eyes meeting his.

"A salad, huh?" She questioned with such disdain that he wondered if it was suddenly a crime to eat vegetables. "How interesting."

He raised an eyebrow in question as he poked at a piece of chicken with his fork, "There's protein in it, alright?"

Moira dramatically opened her folded up napkin to retrieve a fork with an exaggerated flick of her wrist.

"You know who else eats salads?" She didn't give him time to guess. "_Claire._"

She stabbed her massive helping of macaroni and cheese with such force that Piers worried that she might have broken her plastic utensil. If the woman choked on a plastic fork prong, would he even bother to give her the Heimlich or let some other good samaritan accept the task?

"Along with about 95% of the rest of the world's population, I'd imagine." He countered, unaffected by her violent behavior.

Moira chewed her pasta slowly as she watched him look back at the report he had been issued in an attempt to ignore her.

"Piers Nivans." She spoke his name carefully as though testing the way it rolled off of her tongue. "How old are you?"

"Old enough." He muttered. "How old are you? Five?"

"Five with seventeen years of experience, thank you very much."

Piers bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile, "I'm 26."

"Uh-huh," she snickered, "26 with a fetish for older women in their thirties, perhaps?"

"Not that I'm aware of." He quickly responded. "But I guess you never know until you try it."

Moira smiled.

"Where are you from, Piers?" She asked sweetly.

"Virginia."

"And what do you do for a living?"

Piers furrowed his brow. She was currently sitting in his place of employment and Barry had introduced him by his title merely two days ago.

"I...work here?" He didn't understand the purpose of the question.

Moira looked down at her nails and began to chip away at her electric blue polish. "Anywhere else?"

"No." Piers laughed. "I'm just about married to this damn place."

The comment piqued her interest. Moira looked up from her botched manicure and scooted closer to the table, prepared to listen intently.

"And what is it that you do in your spare time, Pierre?"

He supposed it was close enough. How was he supposed to answer the question? As of late, his only hobby had been spending time with Claire.

"Why are you interrogating me again?" He inquired, hoping to change the subject.

"Because I care about Claire." She answered simply. "I love her like a sister and I'm not about to stand back and let anyone make her more miserable than she already is."

She wrinkled her nose before continuing.

"If you're messing around with her, you better mean it."

Piers sighed, "Why are you accusing _me_?"

Moira leaned across the table, bringing her face close enough to see the flecks of amber in his eyes.

"Because you're the hottest one here and Claire might be dumb, but she's not blind."

Piers felt his embarrassment burning in his cheeks.

"Yeah, well," he dropped his fork into his salad bowl and grinned, "I'm not that kind of guy."

With that, he collected his dish and made his way out of the cafeteria, leaving an incredibly pleased Moira alone at the table.


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Claire forced a smile at the older woman despite the metallic taste in her mouth that resulted from biting her tongue. Nancy, one of the longest standing members of TerraSave, meant well, but Claire couldn't shake the niggling feeling that the question inspired. Ever since her return to work, it seemed that everyone felt the need to throw in their unsolicited two cents on her choice and she was quickly approaching the threshold for her patience.

"Yes, Nancy," she said as sweetly as she could manage, "I'm sure. Really, I'm fine."

The grey-haired woman studied her for a moment, the wrinkles on her face deepening with her pensive expression. After a fleeting moment, she returned Claire's smile and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"If it gets to be too much, please don't hesitate to excuse yourself."

Though it was a suggestion, it seemed an awful lot more like a command.

"Sure thing."

Claire followed the woman into the meeting room and was grateful for the fact that the lights had already been dimmed in preparation for the presentation. The darkness of the room helped to mask her presence from the prying, judgmental eyes of her colleagues and she swiftly settled into a seat in the empty back row of chairs.

The solitude did little to quell her frustration. With the exception of Moira, she hadn't been particularly close with anyone at TerraSave, so she couldn't understand where these assholes found the audacity to tell her how she should grieve. If she felt she was ready to return to work, then she _was._ It wasn't anyone's damn business.

_Everyone is pissing me off today._

She tapped send before she realized she had written out the text and it was only a matter of mere seconds before Piers responded.

_Should I come fight them?_

A broad smile crept onto her face.

_You'd beat up middle aged women for me? That's so romantic._

_I'm a modern day Prince Charming, what can I say?_

Claire felt a pair of eyes on her and looked up from her phone to watch a blonde woman quickly turn away to whisper something in another woman's ear. The brunette woman turned to look in Claire's direction and, upon catching her stare, swiftly whipped her head back around to stare at the presentation screen ahead.

_I feel like everyone is judging me. It's like they think I'm not grieving right._

_Fuck them._

Claire smiled and slid her phone back into her pocket as the presenter approached the front of the room. She recognized the woman, perhaps from passing by one another in the hallways in the past, but couldn't place her name or position. Her stoic, no-bullshit expression and perfectly pressed blazer suggested that she was a figure of importance.

There was an audible click as the presentation advanced to the first slide.

"As a result of the efforts of the B.S.A.A., the infection has been contained." She spoke flatly. "The losses, however, are great."

She pressed a button on her remote to transition the slide to a large image of a map.

"The B.S.A.A. stated that radiological warfare was deemed a necessity in combating the outbreak." The woman visibly sneered, her disdain for the practice apparent.

Claire felt something turn in her stomach as numerous red zones appeared on the map.

"Whether or not this is fact remains to be seen."

Claire wondered what title the woman held to inspire her to feel that she had the authority to criticize the methods of the B.S.A.A. It must have been easy for her to throw around such harsh judgment from the safety of her desk. Had she ever been face-to-face with a B.O.W., perhaps her critique would have been more constructive.

"The local hospital cannot safely manage the number of _humans_ who served as collateral damage."

The images that appeared on the screen made her dizzy, depictions of dozens of people attached to more wires and life support devices than she realized existed. The onslaught of photographs continued—a man vomiting blood on the sidewalk, a woman bleeding from her eyes and nose, a child covered from head to toe in open sores and ulcers.

She averted her eyes as she waited for the images to disappear. A bad taste surfaced in her mouth and she swallowed it down, wincing at the burn of bile as it irritated the lining of her throat. It was a visceral reaction that she couldn't quite explain. For most, it likely was a justified response, but Claire had experienced bioterrorism firsthand on numerous occasions without so much as batting an eye. What the hell was suddenly wrong with her?

"The patient burden is severe and medical relief is required to improve survival. It is estimated that _hundreds _have been affected by the outbreak and the B.S.A.A.'s 'solution.'"

The disrespect was beginning to get on her nerves. Was this truly her brother's legacy...to die in order to save the lives of the oblivious and ungrateful? Had Chris truly devoted his life to protecting people like _this_?

Claire opted to tune the woman out as she stared at the budget breakdown that had been projected onto the screen. Though the photographs had been removed from sight, Claire couldn't seem to get the images out of her mind. For the first time, Claire wondered about the explicit details of Chris's death. Had Chris suffered in the way that they had? Were his wounds as grotesque? Was he aware of his own impending death? Was he afraid when the time came?

She pictured him in her mind, blood pouring from his nose as he lay splayed out on the ground, eyes glassy and unseeing in death. Just as quickly as the image had been conjured, she willed it to disappear from her memory, but the hole that had seemingly formed in the pit of her stomach remained.

Being her usual stubborn self, Claire initially attempted to push the pervasive feeling aside. She distracted herself in as many ways as she could, but, despite her best efforts, the unsettling feeling lingered. It followed her home and persisted to such a degree that its presence became jarring. She began to grow anxious. Would the feeling ever subside?

One night, as she was brushing her teeth, she considered that she might truly be losing her mind. She closed her eyes as she scoured away at her teeth, trying her best to focus on the cleansing burn of peppermint. When she spat the foamy remains of her toothpaste into the sink, she opened her eyes, and found herself stunned at the sight of blood - thick, viscous, and fresh, slowly drifting down the curved edge of the sink.

Claire clenched her eyes shut, told herself that it wasn't real, and when she peered into the sink again, she found nothing but the usual bubbly, minty froth typically left behind after her oral care routine.

As unsettling as it was, that event wasn't enough to rattle her. She assumed it occurred as a result of several things; namely, stress and sleep deprivation. A quick Google search maintained the belief that sleep deprivation could, in fact, result in hallucinations. To Claire, that explanation was logical enough.

After all, "Redfield" and "hard-headed" were synonymous with one another.

* * *

"Apparently, a cadet filed a complaint against you and Marco." Piers said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He glanced down at the report, skimming over the contents one last time before looking Finn in the eyes.

"You've been calling this kid 'Frodo' the whole time?"

Finn stood at attention, but couldn't fight the smirk on his face. "Apologies, Captain, but the cadet in question is five fucking feet tall."

"_Interim_ Captain." Piers hissed. "The report also says that, during the last PT session, the cadet had difficulty traversing a hill. In response, you and Marco kept shouting, and I quote, 'Your ass can hike all the way to Mordor, but you can't handle this tiny fucking hill?'"

Finn snickered, but quickly regained his resolve. "That is correct."

Piers groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Finn, seriously? You can't bully the newbies because of their height."

"If it's any consolation, sir, we are now referring to the hill as Mt. Doom because, you know...it's canon. Frodo can't climb Mt. Doom, hence the whole thing with Sam and th—"

"Yeah, Finn, I got it."

His phone began to ring. When he saw Claire's name printed across the screen, he felt a sudden sense of unease. She never called during work hours.

"Just a minute." Piers said, holding up a finger to Finn before turning away.

"Hey," he greeted, "Is everything alright?"

"Well…" She sounded shaken, her voice breathy and strained. "Define 'alright.'"

He didn't like the way that sounded.

"Tell me what's going on."

"I, uh, might have...gotten in a wreck and I might, um, need someone to come pick me up."

"Are you _okay_? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, but...can you just come, please?"

The frustration in her voice kept him from pressing further. Once he requested that she texted him her location, Piers sighed and rose from his desk, fishing through his pockets for his keys.

"This isn't over." Piers pointed at Finn.

"You're leaving?" Finn asked, unaffected by the threat. "That's not like you, Nivans. This sounds like it has to do with a woman..."

Piers said nothing as he slipped on his jacket and Finn's mouth went wide in awe.

"Holy shit, Captain! You're getting laid and didn't even tell me?"

"_Interim_ Captain," Piers gritted out, "And it's not like that."

Finn let it go, but he suspected that it most definitely was _like that_ and he hoped for Alpha Team's sake that his hunch was correct. Getting laid might get Piers to pull the stick out of his ass and loosen up a little. At that realization, he grinned wolfishly to himself because man, he couldn't _wait_ to tell Marco about this.

* * *

Piers felt sick to his stomach when he arrived at the scene of the accident. It appeared that an SUV had plowed right into Claire's little sedan and intruded well into the driver's side. He assumed that both vehicles were fucked to some degree, but Claire's had certainly taken the worst of the damage, and the sight of the ambulance parked nearby made him nervous.

He found Claire sitting in the back compartment of the ambulance with her legs dangling over the rear bumper. She was hunched forward and holding a stack of gauze beneath her chin to collected the blood freely pouring from her nose and the sight of it made his heart sink. Upon noticing him, she forced a weak smile and gave him a half-wave in greeting.

"Jesus, Claire," he moved to kneel down in front of her, placing one hand on her knee as he looked up at her with a concerned expression on his face, "What happened?"

"Well…" She winced and pressed a finger to her bruised lower lip before continuing. "I swear I looked both ways, but then this—"

"You pulled out right in front of me!"

Piers hadn't paid any attention to the other driver due to the sight of Claire's blood, but he finally turned in her direction once his shock had worn off. She was a middle-aged woman who wore a serious scowl as she animatedly swung her arms around for emphasis as she spoke. He didn't see any perceptible sign of injury on her and assumed she was fine, given the fact that she was pacing around like a madwoman as she shouted.

"With all due respect, ma'am," he rose to his feet and tried to employ the most soothing tone he could muster, "Accidents happen. She didn't mean it."

She let out a cold, incredulous laugh.

"She pulled out RIGHT in front of me. What was she doing, texting? You kids and your phones, I _swear_."

Claire glared at her from over her wad of blood-saturated gauze, but chose to keep quiet. Her head was pounding and, frankly, she didn't have the energy to waste on this woman, though she did take serious offense to the comment. Claire was a goddamn adult.

"I highly doubt it." Piers crossed his arms over his chest, anger slowly beginning to brew within him. "Like I said, accidents happen."

"I am forty-seven years old and I have _never_ pulled out in front of someone." She argued. "Accidents _don't_ happen unless you're negligent."

"Look, I have insurance," Claire suddenly chimed in, "If you're worried about your car, relax. It's going to get fixed."

"What about the fact that you nearly _killed_ me?" She shrieked. "Think about that. You could be in prison right now."

That was enough to sever the final fragile thread of patience he possessed. Piers stepped towards her, jaw set hard as he clenched his fist to redirect some of his fury away from the woman.

"Will you just give it a rest?" He snapped, employing the same intensity that he would when reprimanding a cadet. "What the hell are you trying to accomplish here? What's done is already done. She made a mistake. Things _happen._ She didn't do it on purpose."

"Mrs. Greene." A sheriff approached them, paperwork in hand. "You can come with me."

He and Piers shared a look, one that he swore communicated some sense of apology. Piers nodded curtly to him before returning to Claire's side.

"Are you okay?" He quietly asked.

Claire accepted another stack of gauze from the paramedic, the bleeding now reduced to nothing more than a slow trickle. Her eyes met his and he noted the dark circles that framed them along with the glassy, exhausted look that dulled her ordinarily bright gaze. It had been four days since he had last seen her and her appearance made him feel guilty. Had she been suffering in his absence?

"She's gonna sue me, huh?" Claire laughed bitterly as she allowed the paramedic to take her arm in order to obtain another set of vitals. "Way to go, Claire."

She winced as he inflated the blood pressure cuff and Piers sighed, "You don't need to worry about that right now."

"Hey," the paramedic spoke up, "Are you feeling nauseated, Miss Redfield?"

He handed her a barf bag and she looked down into it, confused.

"No…?"

Piers grimaced as she subsequently vomited a mixture of blood and bile into the bag.

"Are you psychic?" She sarcastically asked.

"Nah," he took the cuff off her arm, "I just know a concussion when I see one. You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"Fuck that." Claire groaned. "I was in the Raccoon City Incident. I can handle a concussion."

Piers sighed and shook his head. There was no point in arguing with her because he knew the stubborn Redfield gene very well and hers was perhaps even worse than her brother's. His chance of convincing her was slim to none.

"Alright, but you have to sign this waiver saying we offered."

"Is this so I can't sue you if I die?" Claire managed a grin as she scribbled the best attempt at a signature that she could muster with her blurred vision.

Piers apologized to the paramedic who simply laughed and advised, "Just stay with her for 24 hours. If anything starts to change, take her to the ER."

Once Piers had safely secured her in the passenger seat of his car, he gave her a stern look.

"We're going to my place." He warned her. "You heard what the medic said."

Claire shook her head, "I'll be fine, Piers. I don't need a babysitter."

He sighed, "Alright, then I'm staying the night at your place."

"Piers, that's ridiculous. I've probably had a concussion several times in my life and I was fine every time," she began to count on her fingers, "Raccoon, Rockfort, Antarctica, Harvardville, Sushestvovanie…"

"_Claire_." He interjected warningly.

"...that time I hit my head when I played volleyball in high school, once when Moira slapped me on the back of the head, that time I tried to beat Chris's ass when I was a teenager and he dropped me on my head…"

"We're going." He declared. "It's final."

"But…"

"Alright," he paused, key still halfway in the ignition, "It's either me or Moira."

Claire wrinkled her nose as she considered Moira's typically obnoxious behavior that was sure to exacerbate her headache.

"Fine. Let's go."

* * *

Piers would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed by the condition of Claire's apartment complex. The musty smell in the stairwell and the crack in the drywall in the hallway outside of hers suggested that her landlord wasn't particularly concerned with the quality of their tenants' lives.

"Shit," she suddenly exclaimed, "I gave my keys to the towing company. Do you have a credit card?"

"What?"

She held out a hand expectantly and he obliged her. Piers watched in horror as she shoved the plastic between the doorknob and door jamb, forcing the door to pop open. She nonchalantly handed the card back to him as though this wasn't an unusual occurrence.

"Uh," he stared into the open doorway, "That's not very safe."

"Neither is fighting B.O.W.s for a living." She countered, but quickly retracted her statement. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm so irritable."

"I might have a clue as to why." He teasingly said, following her into her apartment.

It was quaint, albeit small. He took in the light-colored flooring, the pale green of her walls, and the simple grey and white scheme of her furniture with a curious eye. The pale sliding door on the opposite wall likely led to a balcony and let in a generous amount of sunlight through its window panes.

"It's cute." He commented. "Straight out of an Ikea magazine."

Claire laughed as she dropped her bag onto a chair near the small kitchen table, "Probably because everything is from Ikea."

There was an awkward pause as they stood still, not entirely sure of what to do with themselves. Claire eventually gestured towards the couch, suggesting that he take a seat.

"I'm going to wash my face." She announced before disappearing into the bathroom.

Claire drifted off to sleep relatively soon. She was curled up on the couch in a position that was painful to merely look at, let alone sleep in, and Piers insisted on ushering her into bed despite her protests. Her drowsiness got the best of her and she was out again within minutes, leaving Piers to his own devices in her living area.

He was watching some trashy reality TV show when he received a call from an unknown number.

"Hey, panini. It's me, ya girl."

Piers paused, taking a moment to place the voice.

"Are you even trying anymore, Moira?"

"Of course I am. It takes a lot of effort to be this incorrigible, pasta."

Admittedly, he laughed.

"How did you get this number?"

"You think Barry password protects his phone? He doesn't even understand how touch screens work."

Piers sighed and Moira continued.

"I've been calling Claire all day and she's not answering her phone, so I thought maybe you were keeping her busy with that good ol' B.S.A.A. dick."

He wondered if Moira was clinically insane.

"No, we're at her place." He informed her, choosing not to comment on her vulgarity. "She's okay, but she got in a wreck this morning."

He heard Moira gasp.

"I'll be there in, like, 30 mins."

When the doorbell rang twenty minutes later, he assumed Moira had simply broken every single speed limit along her commute. Though he didn't know her well, he couldn't put the likelihood of it past her. Piers didn't hesitate when he went to answer the door, but he froze in his tracks when he found himself face-to-face with a man.

"Uh…"

The man narrowed his blue eyes and attempted to look past Piers, peering into Claire's apartment.

"Is Claire here?" He asked tersely, glaring at Piers.

Piers wasn't entirely sure where the hostility was coming from, but it made him uncomfortable. He looked the guy over and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She's asleep."

They stared at one another, neither speaking until Piers broke the silence.

"Can I take a message or something?"

There was another pause.

"No." He took a step back, leaning against the opposite wall and imitating Piers's position. "Who are you anyway?"

Piers raised an eyebrow, "Who wants to know?"

He laughed to himself, looking down at the ground and shaking his head slowly.

"I've known Claire for a long time."

How this was at all relevant to the question, Piers wasn't sure. He frowned hard and waited for the guy to offer a proper answer, but received none.

"She never mentioned you'd be coming, so I assume this is an unexpected visit." Piers commented. "And, for the record, she's never mentioned any guy who she has known for a long time. I'm not going to play a guessing game with you."

The guy smirked, looking Piers in the eye as he challenged, "You must not be close then."

Piers laughed this time as he assured him, "Trust me. I know her _very_ well."

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?!"

They both winced at Moira's shrill screech, turning to watch her sprint down the hall. Piers stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him in fear that the ruckus would wake Claire. Moira stood in between them, her back to Piers as she shoved a finger into the man's chest.

"I thought I told you to go fuck yourself last time I saw you." She growled. "In fact, I think I requested that you play freeze tag in traffic."

He watched her with a frigid stare, unspeaking for a while.

"Cat got your tongue, you stupid fucker?"

He merely smiled and calmly said, "I really wish you were more like your father, Moira."

Moira stomped her foot against the floor beneath her as she hissed, "I don't recall ever giving you permission to call me by my first name, shithead."

If he felt uncomfortable before, Piers wished he could disappear now. He had no idea what the hell he was caught in the middle of, but he desperately wished to see himself out of it. There was clearly history here and he wasn't interested in writing himself into it. Moira, however, seemed insistent on doing such.

"Look, this guy here has a way bigger dick than you, so you can catch a big fat L in this dick measuring contest and go the fuck home."

Piers wanted to fucking die.

"Moira, what the—"

She spun on her heel, facing Piers as she pointed at him furiously.

"Stay the fuck out of this, pastrami. This is between me and my dear old friend here."

Piers didn't dare do so much as breathe. Moira turned back to her alleged friend and smiled menacingly.

"I asked you to leave." She repeated. "Preferably by throwing yourself off the roof."

His gaze flitted between Moira and Piers before he turned away, heading down the length of the hall.

"Tell Claire I came by." He called, waving behind his back without bothering to face them.

"I'll tell her you fucking died!" Moira shouted.

She snatched Piers by the wrist and shoved opened the door to Claire's apartment as she snarled, "Come on, Peter. I think I'm gonna puke."

Piers thought he might too, given the terrible feeling that settled in his gut.

"I don't think I should ask."

Moira glared at him, "Then don't, stupid."

And so Piers didn't.

It was Moira who brought him up. Piers had made sure to steer clear of her path, quietly complying with all of her demands in order to preserve his own life. To burn off her anger, she insisted on making Piers her poor excuse for a sous chef as she tore through the contents of Claire's fridge in an attempt to throw together dinner for the three of them.

"About that guy," she suddenly said while he was desperately trying not to remove his own fingers while chopping vegetables, "Don't mention him to Claire, alright? I don't want her to get upset right now."

He couldn't suppress his curiosity.

"Alright, but…" He flinched preemptively, expecting her to rip him a new one. "Who is he?"

Moira paused in the midst of searching the cabinets. She turned back to Piers and leaned against the counter, gripping the edge of it as she stared down at the floor.

"Leon S. Kennedy." She revealed. After a moment's pause, she added, "The 'S' stands for 'Shithead,' in case you're wondering."

"I wasn't," Piers let out a laugh, "But thanks anyway."

Moira giggled with him and it caught him by surprise. He had yet to see this side of Moira. The vulgar, spunky, candid girl who had verbally assaulted him in Barry's office was replaced by one that seemed much more genuine and human.

"He has a lot of history with Claire. It's really not my business to tell you about it, but he's done her dirty for years. Claire has a soft spot for him because they survived the Raccoon City Incident together or whatever, but he just takes advantage of it all the time. Well, _used _to. She finally cut it off a while ago and now she has your fine ass to climb into bed with, so everything is peachy."

He didn't quite follow. Was Leon Claire's ex? Was he a toxic friend who emotionally abused her in some way? Had he once been an unrequited love? All of the possibilities made him uncomfortable in different ways. Regardless of what Leon had once been to Claire, it had ended poorly, and he regrettably added it to the increasingly long list of the terrible things that had occurred in Claire's life.

"That's why you were so aggressive with me when we met." He conjectured and Moira nodded.

"Yeah," she ruffled her dark hair with her hand in a spastic motion, "I just really care a lot about Claire, you know? She's more than just my best friend...she's like a big sister, I guess. She saved me on Sushestvovanie Island even though I was being a little shit the whole time."

"I haven't heard about that one." He admitted and Moira shrugged.

"Maybe she'll tell you about it sometime. Claire is a really good person and I'm tired of watching her get fucked over in life. I love her and I will literally make you watch me cut off your balls with a rusty butter knife if you do her wrong, alright? I'm not fucking around."

As violent as she was, Piers thought he might prefer this side of Moira.

"I don't doubt you, Molly." He said as he resumed his botched attempt at dicing an onion.

"Good, because the second you do…" She paused for dramatic effect. "I'll make sure your death looks like an accident, Perseus."


End file.
